


Keep Yourself Alive

by lyllytas



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Crowley Has Feelings, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Magic, Masturbation, Mother hen Aziraphale, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sex Education, the joys of certain bodily functions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyllytas/pseuds/lyllytas
Summary: "Maybe that's Hell's plan. Or Heaven's. Who knows? Surely someone knows that I have no chance of making it as a mortal. Kids figure this stuff out, but then kids bounce back and they're much less breakable.""Between the two of us, surely we can keep one body alive while we sort this out."“Right, because the two of us have been doing a bang up job of dealing with things.” Crowley's fingers tap on the table top, “This will be an utter disaster. We haven't a chance.”





	1. Crowley discovers wanking

**Author's Note:**

> Going through and editing this was /fun/. I changed tenses halfway through. Hopefully I caught everything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally started out because I wrote some smut that was supposed to be pointless, but then I looked at it and went, huh there's a story there. This one shall be long, I think, so thanks for sticking in! There's a happy ending...eventually

Crowley wakes up one morning after the Apocalwasn't decidedly not himself. Everything smells different; rather dull almost. And the light doesn't bite into his eyes like it tends to when he first wakes up. Even the noises sound muffled - just different. Maybe he is getting sick; Demons don't typically get sick, but perhaps he's been on Earth long enough that maybe something has finally gotten to him.

When he forces his way out of bed 15 minutes later and to the bathroom, spurred on by a rather insistent bladder, his hips feel so stiff. And he doesn't start to understand things until he looks in the mirror. He blinks a few times just in case he's still asleep. That's not his face reflected back at him. It is, but it isn't.

Two wide brown eyes are staring back at him, looking very young, and far too human. Even his tattoo is gone. His skin is freckled like always, it's smooth and unblemished and it's all wrong. He stares at the mirror in confusion wondering just what sort of mishap he's gotten into now. This feels like a dream but the features in the mirror refuse again to resolve into his, so it's more like a nightmare then.

He needs to think. Crowley knows that much. Yelling at his plants has always helped him get his thoughts in order, but at the moment he can't even feel the terror anymore and it's just no fun yelling just to yell. After a while, he gives up. His throat is sore, and he's no closer to having an idea. Heaven and Hell have left them mostly alone since they averted the Apocalypse.

He bumps into one of the plants when he turns to go and it tumbles of the stand, sending dirt all over the floor. Crowley sighs at the mess and wills it back up. Or at least he tries too.

The plant and the pot do nothing. He tries again.

"None of that." He says, snapping his fingers. but nothing changes.

He backs away wide eyed and tries to do anything, even a simple miracle, but nothing continues to happen.

He stumbles out of the room, still not quite used to having hips this limited and claws at the phone. He kicks the corner of his desk and a sharp pain bites at him. He dials the bookshop hoping around on one foot while trying to figure out how such a small thing can hurt so much. The phone rings and rings. He hangs up harshly then dials back again and again, until finally Aziraphale picks up.

Aziraphale's voice is tinged with irritation "A.Z. Fell-"

Crowley cuts him off before he can finish his greeting. He doesn't care about opening hours. "Aziraphale!"

"Crowley, are you okay?” The irritation dies away and is instantly replaced with concern. “You could have called my personal phone in the back room. It's far too early for the bookshop to be open."

"Aziraphale, I don't need a lecture." He groans. "You haven't noticed anything particularly strange, have you?"

"Strange, like what, the kraken levels of strangeness?" Crowley thinks he can almost imagine the look on his face, but he's too caught up in worry. "Not particularly, no."

"Nothing wrong with you then?"

"No. I'm hale. My dear boy, what's this all about?"

"Just me then." Crowley curses when the words slip out in his panic. Aziraphale will catch that.

And like a shark sensing blood in the water, he does. "Just you? I don't think I like the sound of that.”

"Get to my flat.” He finally says. He hasn't an idea of why this is happening to him; but if anyone was to see him in this state, he would rather it be the angel. “I think you'd better see this for yourself."

<~>

Aziraphale comes a short time later, knocking politely at the door. Crowley has been pacing the hallway since he hung up the phone and working himself up into a proper frenzy, trying to do things he knows he can't do and think up some reason that his "person shaped" body is suddenly an actual person.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley cries, flinging open the door.

"Oh, goodness gracious._"_ Of course Aziraphale notices immediately what the problem was; would have known even if he was blind. Crowley didn't _feel_ like Crowley. He simply felt human. His hair was still red, though it's luster had faded some, and his body looked mostly the same, but those eyes were far out of place - too normal.

"My powers are gone. My wings are gone. You see these eyes?" Crowley pointed. "Wrong. Wrong. Everything is quite wrong!"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. "This is hardly a conversation to have on your doorstep.”

“What, would you like a cuppa? Get in here and help me figure out what's going on.” He growls.

“Honestly dear, I understand why you're worked up, let's go into the sitting room and we'll try and sort this out.” Aziraphale steps in and closes the door behind him.

"You think I have a sitting room? What's the point? I just come here to snooze. And it's not like I sleep every day." He twists his face up. "Well, the plants get watered, but it's not like I do much living here, let alone 'sitting'.

"Well, where do your guests sit?"

“Guests?" Crowley stares at him, bewildered. "I don't have guests. You're the only company I keep, and we spend most of our time in the backroom of your bookshop.”

“Fine then." Aziraphale rolls his eyes. "Where do you sit?”

"I have a chair in the office, or there's the bed, I suppose."

Aziraphale pushes past him into the rather barren kitchen, and Crowley almost gasps at the tingle from where Aziraphale had brushed against him.

"Where's all your stuff?" Aziraphale turns on him and Crowley tries to collect his thoughts and not focus on the pins and needle feeling.

"I told you, I'm hardly ever here." He shrugs like he's not to blame for the lack of, well, anything.

Aziraphale snaps his finger, the room becomes more furnished and cozy than Crowley has ever bothered with making anything in the past.

"And it never mattered before. When I needed something, I just made it. Like you just did. Hell was all about doing stuff just to be selfish." His eyes looked far too wide and he tugged at his hair. "And now. Well. I can't do any of that and I have no idea why. I'm human, angel. Why am I human? I can't even walk right. And my stomach is all noisy.”

"When was the last time you ate?" Aziraphale guides him into one of the kitchen chairs that hadn't been there a moment before. There's a padded seat cushion. It's tartan.

Crowley sits forward in the chair. "Why would that matter? Now's hardly the time to think about snacks, focus, Angel."

"I am focusing." Aziraphale says primly. "Humans need to eat. You're human now. Therefore YOU need to eat. Surely even you've heard of a rumbly tummy."

Crowley pauses as Aziraphale stands across the table from him. That is a good point. "You think I'm going to have to do _all_ the people stuff now?"

"It's a good idea, to be on the safe side, at least until we figure this out."

"You suppose it's my lot? That did this?” Crowley rests his head on one of his hands.

"Can they do that?" Aziraphale turns the thought over as he sits across from Crowley.

"Well, I don't think so, but I'm not really going to call them up and ask.” He huffs. "What do people even even do?" Crowley scratches at his head. "I keep my plants alive through sheer intimidation, how am I supposed to keep this thing-” He indicates his body, “functioning until we figure this out?"

"Well, I suppose the old fashioned way. I mean, the humans are obviously doing something, so clearly you can too." Aziraphale gestures as he talks. Like it's just that easy.

"Oh, this is worse than having a pet." Crowley moans. There's all this responsibility. He didn't sign up for any of this! It's not fair!

"Oh! Children!" Aziraphale points. "There are many a human out there who suddenly find themselves caring for new children. I'll get some of those books. There's probably not a "_My corporation has suddenly become human, what to do_' book.”

"Humans for Dummies, that's your plan?” Crowley raises an eyebrow.

"Dummies?" Aziraphale sounds confused. "I'd hardly call you a dummy."

"It's the title of a book series." Crowley frowns at him.

"I thought you didn't read."

"What, did you think I just waved my hands at the computer and it did things?"

"Don't you?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow pointedly

Crowley gapes at him. "That's not the point!” He flops back in the chair moodily and crosses his arm. “I still had to learn some stuff. Becoming a nanny overnight was hardly simple."

"Well then I suppose you don't need those books." He looks a little bit sad about it. He'd thought it was a good idea. And he did so love looking for books. Aziraphale stands and walks over to the fridge, Crowley trailing behind him

"Eat a sandwich or something. You're not going to figure this out on an empty stomach." He opens the the door and blinks rather surprised at the full fridge and then the smell hits him. "Crowley, your refrigerator isn't even plugged in! None of this is edible now!" The smell wafting out is spectacularly unpleasant.

Crowley looks over his shoulder into the fridge. "That's never mattered before. I suppose whatever was keeping it working went away with the rest of my powers."

Aziraphale closes the fridge with it's unpleasant smells. "I'm not cleaning this mess up."

"I'll get some human to do it later."

"Crowley," He says pointedly. "You _ARE_ a human right now."

"That's the _bloody_ problem." He paces around the room, full of nervous energy not quite sure how to calm down. He isn't sure he wants to.

"Don't use that tone with me."

_"Don't use that tone_." Crowley mocks back in a higher pitch before switching back to his regular voice. "I think the situation calls for it. If anyone gets to state the obvious in a snide tone, it's _me."_

Aziraphale shoots him a look at which lesser men, smarter men would crumble at. "Well, how's this for obvious, you have no idea what is happening. You called _me."_

"Of course I called you. You're _you.” _Crowley finally sits back at the table. “And I was a nanny. Surely I know enough to not get myself dis-incorporated."

"Killed." Aziraphale says once he's gotten over the '_you're_ _you'_ comment.

Crowley pauses again. "Wot?"

"If you're human right now and you die, then that's _it._ There is no coming back."

_"Bugger._ Game over." He pauses, chewing on his lip. "Do you think I have a soul now? I think I'd prefer non existence to either of my opinions if that's the case."

"Let's not dwell on that. You're not going to die." Aziraphale reassures him. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Maybe that's Hell's plan. Or Heaven's. Who knows? Surely someone knows that I have no chance of making it as a mortal... Kids figure this stuff out, but then kids bounce back and they're much less breakable." He groans.

"Between the two of us, surely we can keep _one_ body alive while we sort this out and set you back to rights."

“Right," Crowley looks up. "Because the two of us have a history of doing a bang up job of dealing with things.” Crowley's fingers tap on the table top nervously, “This will be an utter _disaster._ We haven't a _chance.”_

“Stop _panicking_.” Aziraphale snaps. He's a little touchy about that. He knows they haven't been the brightest, but he thinks they do alright for themselves.

“I'm not panicking!”

“Yes, you are, dear. Your leg has gone all bouncy.”

Crowley frowns and forces his leg still. “You'd be panicking too if you just woke up like this one day. This is so much worse than the Fall." He folds his arms on the table and drops his head down on them "That was a one time and then done kind of thing. My powers, poof. Wings, gone.”

“You've already said that dear." Aziraphale eyes him warily. "Oh, maybe you do need a cuppa.”

“I don't need a cuppa." Crowley raises his head with a huff. "I need answers, and I need to _not_ be _human._”

“You will. We'll figure this out.” Aziraphale glances around. "Though not here. It's all dark and dreary. Are these walls concrete? You'll trip and knock your brains right out of your head."

"Ha. You said I have a brain. I have never had one intelligent thought in my life and you know that." Crowley says automatically.

"Well, you did call _me._"

"In a moment of panic. I thought whatever had happened to me had happened to _you._ I would have _never_ called you otherwise."

"You were _worried_, and for me."

Aziraphale smiles at him and Crowley's chest does something funny, beating rather too fast and his stomach feels like someone is trying it in knots as he sits there.

"You made a funny look.” Aziraphale leans forward. “What's wrong?"

"I have no idea." He says, a little bit breathless. "Maybe you're right, maybe I should eat something. I'll call for take out."

"And pay for how?”

Crowley's face falls. He feels suddenly lost. His powers are gone and he keeps having stark reminders of this. He can't think.

“All right." Aziraphale says after a moment, pulling him out of his thoughts. "We're going to get some food into you, and then we'll come up with our next step.” Aziraphale snaps and a plate springs into existence.

“Is this peanut butter and jelly?” Crowley pokes at the bread. “This is child's food.”

“Eat it. It's nourishment, at least.”

Crowley scoffs at that. "I'm not in short trousers."

"I know you aren't. But listen to me, for _once."_

"Angel, I always listen to you, I just don't always do what you say." He pokes at the plate. Real food would be better, but this would do for now, he guesses.

Aziraphale tiskes. "No, I can't leave you to your own stubborn devices. If it is Hell behind this, they know where you live, it would be irresponsible to leave you here."

Crowley glances at him warily, wondering what's happening now. He knows that tone.

"Please, Crowley for my sake, come with me. There is a flat above the bookshop that I hardly ever use.”

Crowley picks up the sandwich just to have something to do and chews angrily. Trust Aziraphale to find his weak spot and phrase it like Crowley would be doing _him_ a favor. His feelings are all out of whack, and he rather feels like he doesn't know how to describe them anymore, the sandwich is helping some, but the peanut butter sticks to the roof of his mouth in a rather unpleasant way and he has to force himself to finish it.

Tired. He finally identifies. He's tired, absolutely knackered. He's worked himself up into such a state, and 6,000 years are weighing upon him.

“This flat of yours got a bed?” He's too exhausted to argue. He doesn't want to leave his flat behind, and be looked after. He doesn't want to give up his independence, although he knows it's smarter. Hell _would_ take advantage of his current status if they were to find out. Or maybe they caused it and they already know.

“It does have a bed. Though you'll have to leave your car here. It's far too noticeable, and with the way you drive, you'll kill yourself on the road. We'll take a taxi back.”

“Wot, someone takes away my powers and I lose my car too?” Crowley whines.

“I know your car is precious too you, but you're precious to me... I'd never forgive myself if you wrecked it now.”

Crowley frowns sullenly.

"It's only until we figure this out." Aziraphale says. "And really once you've had a chance to think; you'd never forgive me if I let you wreck that car with the way you drive when you can't imagine it fixed." 

Crowley crosses his arms and pushes away the empty plate, admitting defeat.

Aziraphale idly watches him pack a bag, there isn't much for him to pack, he never bothers with making things until he needs them, though he does have a few things he's fond of.

“What about my plants?” Crowley fiddles with the bag handles.

“I'll see that they're taken care of. The fridge too. Come now, there's a cab waiting for us downstairs.”

Crowley reaches for his sunglasses and puts them on, then scowls. “How do people see with these on?” He pulls the shades off.

“There is a reason most people don't wear sunglasses inside.”

“I don't like this at all, angel.” He pouts.

“I don't either. But we'll figure this out.” Aziraphale picks up the bag like it weighs nothing, and since it's mostly empty, that's fairly accurate. “If that's all, then let's get a move on. No point in standing here wagging our chins.”

“Says you. You're not the one having to uproot their entire life.”

“It's only for a little while, dear boy.”

<~>

They pile into the back seat of the taxi and Crowley is glad that at least out here he can wear his shades without running into the wall. The close proximity to Aziraphale makes that funny feeling come back. He doesn't know how to describe it, it's like pins and needles, and like burning. It's confusing, and he doesn't like feeling confused, it makes him feel weak. He always wants to know things, and not being able to identify how he's feeling makes him want to rip his hair out.

Thankfully the ride is short. Aziraphale ushers him into the shop, and locks the door behind them.

“Upstairs we go.”

“Been upstairs, wasn't for me.”

Aziraphale looks at him dryly. “You know what I mean. You're a bit cranky.”

“A bit cranky? I'm not some wee little child. You'd be out of sorts too if you woke up one day suddenly mortal.”

Aziraphale tugs him up the stairs. “You'll feel better after a nice nap.”

Crowley makes faces behind him as they walk. Really, he does want a nap. He just doesn't like being told what to do.

“See,” He says as he pulls Crowley into the bedroom. “I've got a bed.”

Crowley looks it over. “S'all dusty. Is the mattress soft at least?” He asks petulantly.

Aziraphale sighs and snaps his fingers, the dust clearing, the bed becoming more elegant, with soft jersey sheets. pillows galore, and thick comforters. “Better?”

Crowley sinks onto the bed. “Oh sweetness. This bed is amazing.” Crowley digs under the mountains of blanket, cocooning himself. It was so warm. So soft. “Oh, angel, you've got to feel this.”

“It's just a bed.”

“Not just a bed. This is incredible. I thought my bed was fantastic. Come on, I know you. You like to treat yourself.” He closes his eyes and pats the bed. “You want to try this.”

Aziraphale sits down primly on the side of the bed. “It's a nice bed.”

“No, you've got to lie down to get the whole experience." He says. "Close your eyes and just feel. S'amazing.”

Aziraphale does as instructed and Crowley's mouth suddenly goes dry. The heat is back.

“Aziraphale.” He says shakily.

“What is it?” Aziraphale's eyes pop open as he sits up and looks to Crowley.

“Dunno.” He sits up too and looks back at Aziraphale. “I think it's you.”

“Me? What?” Aziraphale blinks.

“I, er, you make me feel all,” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Tingly?”

“Tingly? You think it's cause I'm an angel? I think that's the same phrase Madam Tracy used. It's possible it's how humans react to angels."

“It's like, all warm, and kind of feels like pins and needles. Worse when you touch me, it almost feels I've been burned.”

“Oh, well that's no good. We'll have to be more careful then.” Aziraphale climbs out of the bed and Crowley feels strangely like something has been ripped away from his very being.

“You, you take a nap. I'll look into this. I'll be right downstairs. You'll be safe here. If you need me, I'm just a shout away.”

“Nap, right.” He adjusts the blankets around him, pulling them closer and has the strange urge to beg Aziraphale not to leave.

Aziraphale turns off the lights and pulls the door so that it is open just a crack, then heads downstairs to make a few phone calls.

Crowley sits in the dark, trying to make sense of all the feelings he is feeling. It's so overwhelming, he wants to cry and to scream. He is exhausted, but he can't sleep. And the burning is gone, but that heat, it's still there inside of him and he doesn't know what his body needs.

“Ugh.” He buries his fists in his eyes. If his thoughts would just calm down, then maybe he could get some rest. He flips over in the bed. He does like sleeping on his stomach, and his human body needs to breathe. He shifts ever so slightly so that he is no longer smothering himself in the pillows and gasps when he feels something shoot through him.

He moves again, feeling it burn through him. It is a good sort of burn, he decides as rocks again tentatively. He has to bite his lip to muffle the noises he makes. He buries his face back in the pillow as he ruts against the mattress, careful of the noises he makes. It isn't enough, he needs more. He pulls one of the blankets off of him and balls it up, shoving it between his legs.

Oh. _Yes._ He pants at the delicious friction and the lack of oxygen makes him feel dizzy. He tilts his head back so that he can breathe without stopping.

If Crowley could think properly, he'd be embarrassed, to be seen humping against a blanket that Aziraphale made for him. But the thought sends waves of pleasure through him; Aziraphale made this bed for _him_. The _heat_ keeps building up. He is here, in Aziraphale's shop, and the angel could walk back in on him at any second, and that makes him whine.

He wants Aziraphale to see - and isn't that was something he'd have to explore later, some time when he isn't trying to muffle the noises coming from his mouth and the bed.

And then it's like something explodes. His mind going blank and his body stilling. It's glorious. Oh, _oh_, this is why humans do this so much. He's never bothered with it before. Didn't see the point.

It doesn't matter now. Everything is soft and fuzzy. He feels good and his thoughts are quiet. He rolls over, and pulls the blanket out; his breath coming in little pants. His thoughts stay quiet, and finally, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, dearest, you're going to be decidedly uncomfortable when you wake up. I know it's your first time getting off, but in the future, you'll want to clean up BEFORE falling asleep


	2. Crowley Discovers Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to figure out showers. And wanking in the shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I caught all the tense changes this time. But like always, if you see anything, feel free to let me know :)

He wakes up some time later, the pleasant buzz has worn off. His head feels rather muddled. He is too hot. And he feels sticky and gross. His pants are glued to his skin in a rather uncomfortable manner. His stomach is flaky and itchy and his bladder feel painfully full. He's never needed to pee before*, but now he feels rather like he is going to burst. (*He'd only done it because he thought it was the sort of thing one should do, but now it's screaming at him that he _has to)_

There has to be a loo up here, and he only hopes it works, after so long of disuse.

“Aziraphale” He calls urgently.

“Oh forget this.” He darts out of the room, mostly undressed. He must have taken his shirt off in his sleep, but that isn't important now. The toilet is in the second room he tries, and he thanks all his time spent toilet training Warlock for giving him experience what to do.

Peeing is easy. He just _does_ it, although his body is trying very hard to make this difficult. Quite frankly, he had been lucky to have not woken up in a puddle of piss. Though it might very have done something about the mess that is his pants. How is he even supposed to clean this mess up? And deal with his current situation? Clearly these human bodies need a lot of attention.

There's a knock on the door. “Crowley, are you okay?”

Crowley curses under his breath. The sink would only get him so far.

“I'm taking a shower.” He huffs loud enough to be heard through the door. There's a shower stall in here, though there's absolutely nothing in there. “Where is your shampoo?!”

“I'll bring you some, soap and conditioner too.”

“What in the heaven is conditioner?” He wonders to himself. He's never bothered with bathing before. Why? What was the point when he could always miracle himself clean. He isn't even quite sure how to turn on the shower in here. He thinks he remembers turning a sleek little nob on the faucet to draw Warlock's bath's but he has no idea how to work this one.

Aziraphale knocks again after a while. “I've got things.”

Crowley looks down at himself. As long as he gets the angel out of here quickly, maybe he won't notice.

Crowley opens the door to let him in.

“Shampoo, as promised.” Aziraphale sets several things on the counter. “Oh, you'll want to warm up the shower before you get in.” Aziraphale putters over to the shower stall and the former demon pretends not to take a careful interest in what all he's doing to ensure it all works. Sure, Aziraphale would _tell _him if he were to ask, but Crowley doesn't want to admit that he has no idea what he's doing.

Aziraphale turns around. “Right then, I'll let you get too it. Careful not to slip when you get in.” He pauses, realizing something. “Oh, right, a towel, be back in a jiffy.” He doesn't say anything about the bulge in Crowley's pants or how flushed he is. Maybe he thinks he's hot from sleep. At least that's what Crowley hopes he thinks.

Aziraphale closes the door behind him and Crowley inspects the bottles. There are directions printed on the sides, though they could be more direct. Warlock had used some kid shampoo that also acted as soap. This was a whole new world for him.

He scowls. _Come on Crowley_, he admonishes himself as he pulls his pants down and and throws them on the floor, his socks following. _Get it together. _He knows this stuff. Maybe. It's so hard to think.

And it wasn't like he was planned on raising more little humans, so the information he'd learned at the time hadn't really stuck. Whatever. Surely he can figure this out. He gathers up the supplies and deposits them in the shower on the little nook. He tests the spray of water. It's a little warmer than he'd like, but not unbearable. He steps under the spray and pulls the door closed behind him.

The water pressure in here is horrible. No wonder Aziraphale doesn't use this thing. It gets him clean enough though, the water washing away the mess. Eventually he decides he should do more than just stand there and let the hot water dribble over him. Taking a shower should be interactive, shouldn't it? He has to think back.

Washing Warlock involved a washcloth. He remembers that vaguely, but Aziraphale hadn't brought him one. Oh well, the soap in his hand is good enough. He rubs the bar over himself. It's slippery, hard to get a good grip on. He drops it a couple times and looks at it with distaste.

Bars of soap, really not his thing, he decides. It does feels sort of pleasant, just standing there in the heat and massaging soap into his skin. Must be why people like taking showers. He looks down at his prick. It's not gone away on it's own. It's still jutting out demanding attention. He's at a bit of a loss. Along with bathing, the whole genitalia thing is new to him.

'Oh fuck it,' he declares. If he's going to be stuck in this body, he would rather like to learn how to control it. He didn't care much about sex when he was a demon, nor when he was an angel. It just wasn't all that important. He stares down at his crotch and tries to figure it out. He'd been on this Earth for 6,000 bloody years, and he's a demon. Sort of. Why doesn't he know this?

Surely it can't be that hard to figure out. There's no sheet for him to hump in here. Just brushing against it doesn't work. Friction did work the last time. He thinks about the crude gestures he remembers and cups his hand around himself.

He hisses. That is way too hard. This time he goes for a much gentler touch.

Better, but not quite right. He glances at the soap. It had been slippery. Maybe? But he can't figure out how to mix the two of them. Seriously, how hard can wanking be? He grabs one of the bottles.

“Conditioner.” He quirks his eyebrow. “Let's see what you're good for._”_ He squirts some in his hand. How much of this stuff does he need? He probably has way too much, but whatever. He wraps his hand around himself again. It slides easily now, and he grips himself a little firmer.

He inhales sharply. The conditioner smells like Aziraphale.

_No _he admonishes himself. He tries to think of something else. Anything else.

But his mind drifts back to the angel. What if Aziraphale _had_ noticed. What if he said something? What if he joined Crowley for the shower?

He has to remind himself to be quiet. Aziraphale has a habit of popping up at the worst times.

He isn't quite sure how to put the pieces together, has never had a proper fantasy before, so instead he closes his eyes and imagines kindness that Aziraphale turns on him, gentle hands touching him; his face, his neck, lower.

It should fill him with so much guilt - that he's taking advantage somehow, but he feels so good right now, it's hard to think of anything else.

This time he's expecting it - that sudden rush that's like a punch to the gut. He doesn't expect how hard it hits him. White ropes on the walls of the shower stand out when he's able to see again. He wipes at the wall in embarrassment. He has got to _stop_ thinking of Aziraphale when he does _that._

Getting out of the shower is terrible. It's far too chilly. He wraps the towel around his waist and is hit with a growing wave of horror as he realizes Aziraphale has picked up his clothes from the floor where he had discarded them before his shower.

“Oh fuck me.” He moans to himself. “Can't a person figure these things out in peace?”

“Angel?” He calls out tentatively as he sticks his head out of the room, no answer. So instead he goes back to the bedroom.

He plans on getting dressed as quickly as possible to avoid any incident with Aziraphale, but the bed calls out to him – warm and dry. He curls up under the blanket wearing nothing but his towel and absolutely refuses to move until he warms up.

He hears Aziraphale swing the door open, though he doesn't budge. “Ah, I thought I heard you. Would you like brunch? I'm afraid you slept in past breakfast.”

Crowley wiggles a hand at him through the blanket. “Nope. It's cold out there. Not happening.”

“What if I brought you tea?”

“Maybe?” Crowley adjusts the blanket so that he can see. “You bringing tea or am I allowed to stay where it's warm?”

“You can stay there for a while. I'll bring you tea when it's ready.” Aziraphale produces another towel and holds it out to Crowley’s nest. “Did you at least dry your hair or are you're soaking my blankets?”

Crowley extracts one hand and darts away with the towel. He shuffles under the blanket and folds the towel loosely around his head with a grumble. Aziraphale doesn't even use this bed. If Crowley's soaking the blankets _he'll_ be the one to have to worry about it later. “Tea now?”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Demanding.” He rolls his eyes. “I suppose that's a mite better. Don't move.”

Crowley lets the blankets and towels fall back around him as he snuggles down again, enjoying the boneless feel that showering and waking has left him with and the warmth of the blankets.

Aziraphale comes back in the room some time later with a tray. There is food as well as tea, small little bits. “I bet you're starved. You've got to sit up if you want tea though.”

Crowley grumbles, the towel sliding off his head as he sits up in bed and scoots back against the headboard.

Aziraphale sets the tray down with a flourish and Crowley wraps his hand around the mug, it's warm, but not overly hot. He turns his attention to the food: cheeses, sausage, crackers, and grapes.

“I didn't really have much on hand, but I suppose that's okay for nibbles.”

Crowley pops one of the grapes into his mouth and it explodes on his tongue, and he realizes he's ravenous. He devours everything on the tray, marveling at how _good_ everything is. Crowley closes his eyes and just savors one of the sausages.

_“Oh,_ Angel, I think I understand your obsession with food now. Fuck it's nice.” Food never had quite this element to it when he was a demon.

“You'd better get used to eating, you're going to be doing quite a lot now.”

“Ugh, I remember. Always eating, Humans." He groans. "Breakfast, lunch, tea, supper. Lots of food. How am I supposed to remember all of that?”

“Well it's a good thing you have me to remind you, isn't it?” Aziraphale picks up the towel from where it fell and dries Crowley's hair properly. “I've got some pomade around here, give me a moment.”

“Wot's that?” Crowley takes the disk shaped container when he comes back and looks over it with interest.

“It's probably not the brand you use, but it'll still do.”

“What's it for?” Crowley looks to him, lost again.

Aziraphale looks at him. “To do your hair?”

Crowley still stares at him blankly.

“I'm going to regret this.” Aziraphale pinches his brow. “How have you dealt with your hair in the past?”

“Mostly by yelling at it till it behaves.”

“I'm don't know what I expected.” He takes the container back. “I'll do it. I've got a blow dryer somewhere around here I can dig out later.” Aziraphale brushes his fingers through Crowley's hair, shaping it.

“Aziraphale, it's just hair.”

“Dear, your hair always looks nice, I'm just trying to make you look good.”

“You don't use it on yours.” Aziraphale's fingers tingle where they touch.

“Well, I use mousse. Different texture hair. Yours is more sleek, needs more volume. Mine rather has to be corralled. I'm rather jealous you have such nice curls whenever you grow your hair out. Mine just gets wild. And you don't even take proper care of it? _Oh!”_

Crowley pushes at the tray. “Your hair always looks nice, angel.” The smile Aziraphale gives him makes his chest feel funny. The shower had rather relaxed him, but he feels like his stomach has been tied in knots again, He wants to blame it on the food, but it keeps happening. It's confusing, and it _keeps_ happening.

“There. All done.” Aziraphale steps away.

Crowley tries to ignore his stomach and focuses instead on getting dressed. His bag is far emptier than it should be. Hopefully he's not like this for long.

Aziraphale notices him looking. “Oh! You hardly have anything! I wasn't really watching you pack!" He pauses, "Gosh, do you think we'll be okay to go out? I mean, I'll be with you the whole time if someone tries to cause trouble.”

“First of all, go out where? Second, what are you even going to do?”

“Well there's shopping. I almost went and got groceries while you were sleeping, but I thought I shouldn't leave you alone." He raises a hand. "And I am a principality, mind you. I know you probably think I've gotten soft in my time here on Earth, but I can still do quite a bit of damage.”

“Er. Yes. I did forget that. You're just Aziraphale to me. I'm used to you intimidating customers. I kind of forget what all you're capable of, _wait_ shopping?”

“Yes indeed! You'll need more clothes and I need to get more food if we're to make it through this for any period of time! You've got like three things in that bag, and one of them is a _scarf._”

“Don't use that tone of voice." Crowley says defensively. "It's my favorite.”

“It's a bit of string.” Aziraphale scoffs.

“It's fashion.” Crowley thumbs up his nose. What does the angel know about fashion? He's running a couple hundred years behind the times.

“We're getting you some new clothes.” Aziraphale says “And we can't go to anyplace someone might be watching.”

“That's your excuse to dress me up.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “I'm not a doll. And I'm not wearing anything tartan.”

“No, get you plenty of jeans and t-shirts.”

“What's wrong with tees? They're comfy.”

“You look like a college student.”

“And it's any better that you look like a schoolmaster?”

“Insulting me is not going to change the facts. You need clothes. We're going shopping.”

“Ugh, fine.” Crowley gives in. Real clothes then.

Aziraphale wiggles, pleased. “Give me a moment then, dear. I'll put together a list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I wrote all the naughty bits to this and was just trying to link them all together. But filler stuff and a plot keeps happening.


	3. They Go Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, it has been one thing after another. I got a sinus infection that hung around for weeks. I'm mostly better now... I did go through and edit the previous two chapters to add a few details and fix the verb tenses. Not too much of a change, just makes for a smoother re-read. I hope you enjoy!

The list takes more than a moment to create. For one, Aziraphale has no idea what an adult human needs to eat. And for another, he has no idea what's 'Okay To Eat because they're not of this Earth' and what is actually 'Human-Safe' There are lots of things to consider. Aziraphale finally decides that they'll choose at the shop. After all, if the supermarket sells it, it's probably fine for Crowley to eat.

<~>

Aziraphale gathers up his things, not that he has much, and makes his way upstairs to find Crowley sitting on the couch, watching the telly Aziraphale made when he got tired of listening to him complain about being bored.

“Have you been in a supermarket in a while? Do you know what you like to eat? You hardly ever eat more than a bite or two when you're with me usually.”

“Not really." Crowley shrugs. "But it's just food, how hard can it be?”

“Indeed so." He rocks back on his heels. "Well I have nothing to eat here, so we need to get something. Ready then?”

<~>

“When did the humans turn shopping into _this?_” Crowley blinks as he looks around the store with all it's bright colours from packages and endless aisles of things

Aziraphale grabs a trolley and tries to project calmness. “It's not that bad, dear.”

“Angel, there are _eight_ types of peanut butter.” Crowley waves his arm at the display in the aisle. “Who needs all this?”

“Variety is the spice of life!” Aziraphale chirps.

Crowley makes a face. “I don't even know what half of the things in here are _for!_ How are _we_ supposed to know what humans need to eat again?

“That's your homework." Aziraphale keeps walking. "You're the one with the internets.”

Crowley sneers. “Internet, angel. You're killing me." He huffs as he follows him, "I swear you're saying things wrong to get a rise out of me.”

“We're just here to get us through the next few days, some staples, really, and getting a look around.” Aziraphale reassures him.

<~>

They make it through the dry goods aisles okay, not much stands out. The canned goods aisle is a little more intimidating, Crowley keeps looking to _him_ to make the choices. Aziraphale mostly just gets what he sees other shoppers going for, or things that sound vaguely familiar. They pick out a couple varieties of breads, pasta, and rice, and then get a decent amount of produce too.

And then they hit the refrigerated section of the supermarket, their trolley growing packed and somehow still accommodating everything.

“Almond milk?” Crowley stares at the container and raises an eyebrow. “Angel, the humans are milking almonds now.”

“Oh nut juice, I'd heard about that!” Aziraphale lights up. "I've been meaning to try that.

“NUT.” Crowley cackles madly. _“Nut_ juice?” He laughs till his ribs are sore. “That is the FUNNIEST thing I've ever heard.”

“Well, go on then, explain the joke..” Aziraphale stares exasperated at him. "Clue me in."

Crowley wipes at his eyes. “Er...”

“Isn't very funny if you can't explain it.” Aziraphale says dryly and raises an eyebrow.

“It's just... I don't think it's your kind of humor. Internets and things.” He stutters. “But it's kind of crude.”

“I _do_ live in Soho.”

“Let's just agree to let that one go... And maybe don't go telling random people you want to try nut juice."

“Fine. You pick out a milk then.” Aziraphale says huffily.

“I have no idea what any of this means? 1% 2%? Whole? Half? Percents of what? Shapes? Colours? Why it got to be so complicated?”

“Just grab something. If you don't like it, we'll get something else next time.”

Aziraphale picks up a carton of eggs without checking it. None of the eggs will be broken. He pauses, then grabs a second. Eggs are one of the only foods he's ever seen Crowley actually eat.

They get cheese too. Aziraphale usually gets his cheese from a little French shop near his book shop, but there is a great variety here.

“Oh dear.” There are so many different ones. He grabs seven different ones and tosses them into the trolley. And selects a random thing of butter. They get a few sausages and meats, but neither of them really know how to prepare them. Still, Aziraphale is pretty sure that meat is a big deal. The humans tend to have lots of it.

“Alright, let's call it a day." The angel says as he examines their grand haul. "We'll go home and do some research for next time.”

Aziraphale pays for their groceries and then realizes they have no way to get everything back home. He shakes his head and accidentally sends them and the packed bags back to the kitchen above the book shop.

“I... I didn't actually mean to do that. But I suppose I am getting better at the whole sending things other places. Now I suppose we get all of this put away.” He grins and reaches for one of the paper sacs.

“Oh _sure,_ I get stuck in a human body and the angel gets fun teleporting powers." Crowley throws his hands up in exasperation. "I say again, not _fair.”_

"Chin up, dear. In the future we don't have to worry about transporting things, though it's probably best if _we_ take a cab though... I don't want to worry about something going wrong if I send us to the wrong place!"

<~>

Crowley sulks as Aziraphale puts things where he thinks they ought to go, trying to remember which foods were sold in the cold aisles and which ones are okay to be left out. He doesn't Crowley to eat spoiled food. Crowley looks through the cabinets, getting familiar with things. Aziraphale's kitchen - while it isn't stocked with food quite yet - it does have quite a lot of pots, pans and cooking tools.

Though the only electric thing in the entire room is a kettle so simple even he can figure out how to work it.

<~>

Crowley browses around the internet after everything is put away. Perhaps he should have done this before they went out but he didn't think to. Well what's done is done. He writes things on a notepad for the next time they go out. Unlike Aziraphale, he's fine will a ball point pen. He looks up dietary advice, reads through forum posts and recipes, He even watches some cooking videos. If he's stuck in this body, he needs to learn to feed himself.

He thinks cooking looks simple enough for him to manage, as long as he doesn't get a swelled head and sticks to the basics. He marks a few ingredients for them to get next time they're out for several _“fool proof”_ recipes he thinks he can make. It'd be better than having food delivered for every meal, they're getting familiar with the delivery people. Though Aziraphale thinks it's unwise for Crowley to answer the door, he usually makes his way downstairs when he smells food.

He prints out loads of articles for Aziraphale to read. The printer is ancient but it does work after he gets Aziraphale to miracle it into connecting with his phone. Once he found out that Crowley wanted to print out the information for _him_ to read, he was quite happy to set things up. Crowley is pretty sure _he_ gave the printer to Aziraphale a while back and then it was promptly put upstairs and forgotten about. It's certainly getting used now. There's a great big fat stack that he doesn't bother to collect yet. That would mean getting out of bed. Aziraphale might get it though at some point.

Crowley thinks that perhaps he can try cooking something simple tomorrow with the things they already bought. He is much too tired tonight. Instead Aziraphale orders more takeaway for dinner and then sends him back off to bed. Crowley doesn't even wank. He's too tired. Wandering around the supermarket and reading through all that information was so exhausting. He falls asleep as soon as he lays back against the pillows.

<~>

The next morning Aziraphale insists that they go someplace to shop for clothes that Crowley would never be caught dead in, so they're less likely to walk into a trap. It takes a lot of convincing to get Crowley to set foot inside the thrift shop once they are there though. It would have been amusing to Aziraphale if it wasn't so bloody irritating.

Crowley looks at the rows of clothes with a resigned sort of distaste once he's finally inside. “I don't see why we even have to do this. Why can't you just do your thing and we can go?”

“Because we're trying to keep our heads down.” He pulls on his waistcoat. “No, we do this the old fashioned way before they start getting the ideas.”

“Ideas? Clearly someone has already _had _an idea. That's why we're even having this discussion._”_

“It'll buy us more time instead of sending up great big '_oh here's he is, all fleshy and non demony_' flags.” He scowls when he realizes Crowley isn't even listening to him.

The redhead looks offended at the rather hideous dress that's hanging up on one of the end-caps and then turns to Aziraphale. “Are thrift shops one of your sides or one of mine?”

“Neither of us have a side anymore, remember.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes at the face Crowley makes while holding out the dress' skirt. “Oh, it's not _that_ bad.”

“It's torture.” Crowley says dramatically.

“Shopping is relaxing.” Aziraphale tries to placate him. “Browsing through all those different outfits, the thrill of the hunt, all the different textures of various fabric. This will be _fun!”_ Aziraphale bounces on his heels and turns to Crowley.

Crowley glares at the dress trying to burn it to flames. Nothing happens.

“Ugh, _fine.”_ He gives in, because it's what Aziraphale wants, though he goes through the motions to try and cover up how bizarre the whole situation is to him.

“This way.” Aziraphale leads him to the men's department. “What size are you?”

Crowley shrugs. “I have no idea. I mean I just make stuff and it fits.”

Aziraphale sighs. “I should have expected as much. They've got dressing rooms off to the side over there, we'll pick some stuff out until we figure it out.”

<~>

They do, though they spend hours in the shop. Crowley tries on many different things and outright refuses in other cases. Aziraphale has _no _taste according to the redhead. Aziraphale counters that Crowley is the one without taste, and really, they could have gone around for hours in that circle, but Crowley runs out of steam. He supposed that they have been here for long enough and turns to tell Aziraphale to wrap it up, but the room goes all funny when he turns.

Crowley's hand is shaking. He feels all sorts of odd. His head hurts, his throat has gone dry, he is exhausted. He feels like he was going to be sick.

He stumbles to the chair in the dressing room, mid complaining again that there were enough clothes in the trolley now, could they please leave because he doesn't think he can stand for much longer? He has a moment to wonder just how this happened so fast and realizes that he's been feeling out of sorts for a while now, but not paying attention.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale follows him confusion giving way to worry. “What's wrong?”

Crowley tries to answer him. He doesn't know. But he is just so tired, and it's taking all his energy not to throw up on the dressing room floor. It doesn't feel like the one of his usual 'spells'. It feels worse.

A bitty from the next stall over comments, “It looks like low blood sugar. My husband Harold's a diabetic, and he gets like that sometimes. I carry around sweets now for him.” She digs in her purse. “Have him suck on these.” she hands him a few hard candies.

Aziraphale takes the candy, unwrapping it and leaning down next to Crowley, offering the sweet.

“'sa lolly.” Crowley says after a moment.

Aziraphale holds his hand steady.“Open up dear.”

Crowley wants to protest. He doesn't want a lolly. He isn't a child, But when he opens his mouth to complain Aziraphale pops the sweet past his lips.

<~>

it helps after a while, and Aziraphale keeps feeding him hard candies to suck on until his hands no longer shake.

“I think it's time for lunch, dear. You need food. And we need to pay better attention. Low blood sugar? I don't know what that is, but we clearly need to avoid it!”

Crowley agrees, so Aziraphale sends their purchases back to the bedroom in the flat and they stop at a nearby cafe for lunch.

<~>

Crowley browses through the menu. “I'm not hungry.” He says at last.

“Yes you are!” Aziraphale stares him down. “Did I or did I not have to _force_ _feed_ you sweets because you almost passed out in a shops dressing room? Choose something _or_ I will choose for you. I don't know how food plays into this, but you clearly need it.”

Crowley picks up the menu again with a huff.

“Don't be like that.” Aziraphale chides. “It was your fault... You skipped breakfast.”

“All people do is eat.” Crowley tugs at his hair. “You know the last time I had breakfast? Been almost 200 years now.”

_“Well_ you'll not forget it again.” Aziraphale crosses his arms. “I'll make sure of that.”

“What are people even eating these days? Alls I know is Avocado Toast. That one was one of mine.”

Aziraphale crinkles his nose in confusion. “It's not particularly demonic.”

“Angel, do you have any idea just how messy avocados can be? And once you cut it open, well, half of it is a GIANT round seed so now do you not only have to figure out how to nicely slice this sucker without making a mess, and you've also got to remove the big rock in the center. Bugger to anyone who accidentally drops that thing on the floor instead of the bin. Good luck picking that slippery bastard up.” He flushes and looked closer at the menu. “And I thought you might like it. Ya know, since you like sushi so much.”

Aziraphale smiles. Crowley is rather cute when he is embarrassed. And his new body flushes so much more. It's delightful.

<~>

Crowley finally admits defeat. “Order something for me.”

Aziraphale does. He tells the waitress to bring two orders of her favorite meal along with two cups of tea, a glass of orange juice and a side of fresh fruit. When Crowley asks for coffee, Aziraphale tells him he'd better not. He's pretty sure that orange juice and fresh fruit are healthy and good for humans and coffee in the level Crowley usually consumes it is not.

<~>

Crowley and him both eat when the waitress comes back. While Aziraphale savors the dish, Crowley keeps shoveling food in his mouth greedily and delights in all the minute details he never tasted before. The little cubes of fruit are his favorite. “I didn't know food could taste this good. I keep forgetting that there's so much flavor!” He looks up at Aziraphale. _“Why_ can't I have coffee?”

“Because you have no sense of moderation!" Aziraphale sets down his fork. "You'll get yourself wound up on caffeine and end up bouncing off the walls. And can you please eat slower? You'll choke yourself one of these days. Drink your orange juice.”

Crowley does, grumpily. He doesn't like the texture. There's all these bitter _things_. Orange Juice, he decides is not on his list of wonderful foods, but he drinks the whole glass to make Aziraphale happy.

After that, they go back to the bookshop. Crowley puts his new clothes away into the wardrobe and lays on the bed exhausted again. At least the shopping is done. He has clothes and food now. Tomorrow he can start trying to figure out how his situation came to be. But for tonight, he gets to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut this time, that's in the next chapter. Just have some more of Crowley and Aziraphale trying to figure human things out.


	4. Crowley cooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale discovers Crowley has been hiding something from things for centuries.  
Crowley has a very rotten day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags

Cooking is an unmitigated disaster when Crowley tries his hand at it. The recipes and blogs all assure him that it's not actually that hard, and he starts to think he can manage it. He spends a few hours one night coming up with the right mix of recipes. He wants this to be good. He orders all the ingredients online and has them delivered the next afternoon to the bookshop.

Aziraphale is downstairs. Crowley had assured him he was fine, and could the angel '_please_ get out of his blessed hair before he lost his mind.' In reality Crowley just doesn't want to spoil this. It's supposed to be a surprise. His first meal and all.

But he is _spectacularly_ terrible at actually cooking.

The prep work itself isn't too hard, but once he turns the burners on, it's another story. In the oven he has a pork tenderloin cooking, and he's trying to make the apricot glaze to go on it while also roasting some Brussels Sprouts to go on the side. In his mind this had worked out a lot smoother, everything coming out perfect. It sounds like a dish that Aziraphale will like, but Crowley's attention is drawn between the three dishes and none of them are right.

It's not a pretty picture. Nothing is working right. 'Fool Proof' indeed. The Brussels Sprouts are definitely burning, and his sauce is refusing to thicken. How is he supposed to turn the sprouts and stir the sauce? The timer beeps and he has to take the pork out now. He leaves the sauce and the sprouts and opens the oven door.

Raw. It's Raw.

He stares at the casserole dish on the oven rack bewildered. It's then that Crowley realizes that the oven has been off this whole time. There are so many details he's not used to doing! Turning the oven on? Things just usually work. He's never _had _to do any of this before.

For 6,000 years things have just _Happened_ and now he's finding out things aren't that easy to manage without his powers. Oh, Aziraphale is right. He'd for sure ruin the Bentley if he were to drive it now.

Somewhere nearby an alarm starts to go off quite loud pulling him out of his thoughts, and Crowley doesn't know what that means but it sends Aziraphale rushing up the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Are you trying to burn this place down? What's with all this smoke?” Aziraphale cries as he rushes to the stove.

“The sprouts!” Crowley darts up, forgetting the pork and sees the sprouts which are supposed to be sauteing in the oil that have turned into tiny little charcoal bits. How long was he brooding about the pork? One of the sprouts bursts into flame dramatically and Aziraphale rushes the pan over to the sink.

Fire.

He should have been paying more attention.

There's fire and what if he hadn't noticed, too focused on his raw pork?

What if some of the oil had spattered and spread the fire?

What if what Aziraphale said about burning the book shop down happened again? And this time it'd be his fault!

“Crowley!”

<~>

The first thing he registers after Aziraphale's voice is a wheezing cry - and that's his voice.

It takes him a while to actually notice Aziraphale is talking to him, sounding quite concerned. He picks out words. Those words mean something, he just can't remember what.

There are flames everywhere. There's smoke. He's helpless and everything is burning. He can hear Aziraphale, but he can't find him.

“Crowley, breathe!”

He tries. He does. He's crying and all he wanted to do was to cook a nice meal for his angel to enjoy, but he can't even do that.

He's terrible at this whole human thing.

Surely by now Aziraphale is realizing that he's _not _going to get better at taking care of himself. Who would want to deal with _this_ on a regular basis?

“Anthony, please!” Aziraphale takes his hands. “You're all right. Just take some deep breaths for me.” He digs in his pocket for some of the hard candies he's been carrying around. “It it the sugar thing again? Did you skip another meal?"

Crowley shakes his head 'no' But Aziraphale still makes him suck on the candy.

<~>

Crowley is miserable.

There's fire and ash.

His thoughts are so loud,

There's sugar on his tongue.

But Aziraphale is holding his hands, talking to him. Aziraphale sprouts his wings and covers them both.

It's familiar. The weight of the wings, the darkness. Being encased in a little bubble of protective feathers. Aziraphale's hands are warm, they feel like comfort.

He isn't sure how long they stay like that. Him, choking on the air and crying, and Aziraphale holding his hands and feeding him sweets.

<~>

“I'm sorry” Crowley says after he recovers.

Aziraphale brushes Crowley's cheek. “Are you okay my dear?”

“Blessed Heaven. I haven't had one of those in like 300 years.” Crowley drops his head on his knees and runs his hands through his messy hair. He is exhausted.

“One of those? This isn't new?” Aziraphale sounds panicked at the thought.

“Nah.” He answers shakily. “Though usually they're not that bad. This one was way more intense than usual." He shifts on the kitchen floor. “It's like... I can't think straight. And the thoughts I do have tend to be pretty negative." 

Crowley runs his hands across one of Aziraphale's feathers. "And I'll forget that I don't need to breathe and panic cause I forget _how _to breathe." He closes his eyes. "I saw fire, I could smell the smoke. The bookshop was burning again... It's like living through a nightmare while you're awake. Everything feels bad; wrong.” He frowns.

“That sounds tremendously unpleasant.” Aziraphale rubs his back.

“Oh, Angel, you have no idea." His knees press into his eyes. "It's like someone cranked your nerves up to 11. And sometimes they make me puke my guts out, which is always a blast. Though I'm usually able to stave it off so I can deal with it alone.”

Aziraphale cries out, dismayed. “What in the world would you want to do that for?”

“Well, for one, if the other demons found out about a weakness like that, they'd for sure take advantage of it.”

“But you know I wouldn't do that, right?” Aziraphale asks quietly. He hopes Crowley knows.

“Well, I knew you wouldn't, but I couldn't be sure the information would stop with you. I didn't want one of your bosses to find out.” Crowley rubs the tears off his cheek and sniffs.

“Crowley!" Aziraphale's lip wobbles. "You can't think that I'd ever do something like that.” Aziraphale's arm.

“Angel, you always see the best in people." Crowley holds onto the feather he's been idly running his hand over. "You think just because you're good and decent that everyone you were working for is the same.” Crowley reaches his hand out to Aziraphale like it will soften his words. Aziraphale does take his hand. “It's not that I didn't trust you. Because I do. I just didn't want _anyone _to know."

"I saw something online that made me laugh." Crowley says after a moment. 'Oh Lord,” He pauses, “I'm back on my bullshit again.' “ He snickers. “I guess I am. Back on my bullshit, although I doubt she even cares..." He runs his free hand idly along one of Aziraphale's wings again.

"Maybe this _is_ another punishment for the _'original sin'._ I mean, it's been happening as long as I can remember. I don't know what they're calling it these days. Heck, the last time this happened, they were slapping a “female hysteria” label on just about anyone. Suffice to say I did _not_ present like a woman for a very long time after I got myself out of that mess of a hospital.”

Crowley leans back and closes his eyes. “It was just 'oh I'm having another spell, today's not the day to go out. It wasn't like they happened all the time. Just every once in a while.” Tears prick at his eyes, and he's not sure what he's crying about now. “I just wanted to _do _ something for you. It was supposed to be some simple recipes. I thought you would like it. Next thing you know, there's fire on the stove and all I can think of is the smell of burning books and how this time _I’d _ be the one burning down the book shop."

He gulps down air greedily. "That was new. It felt so real. I could _feel_ the fire."

“It's alright dear." Aziraphale clenches his hand. "The bookshop is fine. You're okay. And if my pan isn't, I can always get another pan." He exhales. "I'm sorry you've dealt with this alone for the last 6,000 or so years, but now we'll figure out how to manage this too." Aziraphale brushes the tears off of his cheeks and pulls Crowley off the floor, leading him to the bedroom.

He guides Crowley into the bed and tucks him in. “I'll go get you a glass of cold water. Doesn't that sound pleasant right now?”

He returns after a moment with a cup, making sure Crowley to drinks it all. “Now, if this happens again, you'll tell me, won't you? We're on _our_ side, you don't have to deal with this alone. Please."

Crowley can't imagine burdening another person with his emotional failings. Instead of answering he glances up at Aziraphale. “Will you read to me for a little while?” Really, Crowley wants to be held, but he feels he has no right to ask that of Aziraphale. "Your voice feels like calm."

Aziraphale grabs a book at random off of the bookshelf and begins to read it. Crowley doesn't pay attention to the words. He just lets Aziraphale's voice caress him, and it lulls him into sleep.

<~>

It's dark when Crowley wakes up. He's not sure of the time.

“Aziraphale?” He calls out. No answer. He pokes his head around the upstairs flat, but doesn't find him. Probably reading in the back room then. Only, He's not there either. “Aziraphale?!” His voice takes on a desperate tone. He's not in the front of shop either.

“Aziraphale? Where are you?” _I can't find you_. Did Aziraphale leave him? What if the angel is gone? What if he's decided that Crowley is too much work after all and has left? Everywhere he turns he thinks he can smell smoke, feel the heat of the fire.

He finally remembers the tub downstairs and tears into the room.

Aziraphale is there. Music is floating through the air, which explains why the angel didn't hear him. He isn't thinking logically right now though.

Aziraphale startles in the bath when the door flies open, banging against the wall.

“I couldn't find you.” Crowley pants in explanation. “I thought you left.” He sniffles and falls to his knees by the door, relived that Aziraphale is here. It's fine. Aziraphale is fine. He is fine.

It takes him a moment to realize that the fire he smells isn't just in his memory, and he looks up and sees them, three little tea light candles sitting on the edge of the tub. He moves as quick as he can and pinches out the flames of each one and then turns to the side and is violently sick.

Aziraphale is there beside him suddenly. He waves away the mess and reaches out to touch the redhead's shoulders. Crowley's ears are ringing. He doesn't feel the pain at first from where he's burned himself when he extinguished the candles. He can't stop crying.

“Is it happening again?”

He nods his head. He isn't sure this spell ever left him.

“Focus on my breathing. That's all you have to think about right now. Don't listen to anything else in your mind Anthony. Just breathe with me.”

Crowley takes a few gasping breaths. He's trying. “What kind of demon is scared of a little smoke or fire?”

“No, no.” He pulls Crowley against his chest. “Feel how I breathe. Do the same.”

And it should feel patronizing and embarrassing, to have this happen twice in such a short time. Aziraphale is wet behind him. His clothes are damp and he doesn't care.

“I just came down here to take a bath while you were napping. I wouldn't leave you." He assures Crowley. "I'm sorry I gave you a fright. You're okay though.”

Aziraphale talks mindlessly to him, telling him stories about the parts of his life that Crowley missed out on, little bits and pieces that stand out in his memory, and when he runs out of things to say, he recites ancient Greek poetry.

Finally Crowley stops shaking. He realizes he's on the floor in Aziraphale's bathroom, sitting in the angel's lap. His knees hurt from falling on the tile. Aziraphale has miracled a towel around his waist at some point, which at least makes his current situation slightly bearable.

Crowley exhales shakily. “What time is it?”

“It's only been a couple of hours since you fell asleep." He rests a hand on Crowley's shoulder. "I was going to order kebabs for dinner. Does that sound nice or would you like something else?”

“What I want doesn't matter.” Crowley waves a hand around as if to say 'just do whatever.'

“It does! Your opinion matters very _much_ to me. _You _matter very much to me."

Crowley peels himself from Aziraphale and slowly stands up, not meeting his eyes.

Aziraphale stands up as well and drains the tub. “Let's go back upstairs. We can look through all the different take out menus I have and see what you're up for dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's anxiety and panic attacks are loosely based on my own. The spectacular cooking fails - that's all on Crowley. He might also be dealing with some trauma about the apocalypse-that-didn't-happen.


	5. Aziraphale gives Crowley 'the talk'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley learns that humans don't actually die from embarrassment. Nor does the floor swallow them to allow them to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to update a different fic, but I keep having ideas. This was supposed to be smut with a little plot, and the plot keeps growing.

Once Crowley has figured out how to get off, he doesn't want to stop. It just feels so _good_ at the end. He's addicted to this high; the rush. Is this what he's been missing out on for all these years? Sure, there are downsides to the whole being human thing, but wanking isn't one of them. For one he has those terrible spells a lot more often, but he thinks it's a fair trade off for food tasting extremely well and getting off.

And he enjoys this particular bit of humanity, in the shower, in bed, during the day when Aziraphale leaves him alone to pretend that he's an actual shopkeeper. He's even started to put together loose ideas in his head. Someone else's hand touching him, Aziraphale's voice. Soft skin. He tries to remember the humans he's seen in the past. It's vague. there was always a lot of writhing. skin on skin. He doesn't know why he has never bothered to do any of this before. It's fantastic. It's bloody marvelous.

Sure, he had the parts when he required them, but he'd never needed them for anything more than looks. They just occupied space, they weren't really functioning. When he gets his powers back, that's definitely going to change. Demons are supposed to be all about lust and all. He didn't _get it_ when he was a demon, but he _does _now.

He dreams, and the ghosts of 'dear boy' bounce around in his head and he wakes up in the morning hungry and wanting. He thinks of Aziraphale as he pumps his hand up and down, and then washes himself clean in so much shame. He shouldn't be thinking like this. Aziraphale has been his friend for so long. Why does he keep doing this? Every time he tries to imagine a faceless stranger, they always turn into Aziraphale.

<~>

"Whhrrg?" Crowley says when he is woken up by a knock and Aziraphale clearing his throat in the doorway to the bedroom. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows and rocks back on his heels, waiting for Crowley to wake up properly.

Sleep and regular orgasms were really making mornings more bearable, though Aziraphale was holding out on the caffeine 'for Crowley's own sake'. Killjoy. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and is glad he hasn't waken up with one of his usual morning glories. That would have been really embarrassing, though Aziraphale might not have noticed.

"Whassup?" Crowley finally manages.

"I wanted to know where all of my plush towels were going. I thought you were hoarding them up here so I was going to do some washing.” Aziraphale explains. “Just wanted you to gather up your dirty clothes.” Aziraphale looks pointedly at the floor where Crowley just throws his clothes off at night.

“Let me do the washing.” He says quickly as he sits up and starts throwing clothes into the hamper. “I'm bored.”

“Nonsense. You'll make a terrible mess and then I'll have to clean it all up. It's quicker this way. You don't pay attention to details, you know. Washing clothes is finicky. Too much soap and then there's bubbles everywhere. Besides, this is a 'Book' Shop. If you're bored, read something. Or watch that dreadful telly you made me make. Aziraphale grabs the laundry hamper from him and makes his way out of the room.

Crowley almost flies out of the room behind him to protest. “No really. Just show me how it's done.”

Aziraphale steps around him. “Why don't you go take a shower, dear? I'll make breakfast when you're done.”

“Aziraphale!”

<~>

Aziraphale is waiting for Crowley after the shower. He sits on the bed, hands folded neatly.

“Why do I feel like I'm about to be getting reprimanded by the headmaster?” Crowley pretends to ignore him while rifling through his wardrobe.

“Crowley, you're human now.” Aziraphale says plainly.

“No really?" Crowley turns to him and raises an eyebrow "Honestly, hadn't noticed it.”

Aziraphale sounds exasperated. “Crowley, I'm trying to be serious.”

“Let's talk about your shower then.” Crowley makes a face. “It sucks.”

“Oh, well, I'm rather more of a bath person." He shrugs. "I told you I never use that shower.” He sighs. “I was trying to make a point.”

“Yes. I know, I'd rather you _not_.” He _knows_ Aziraphale has found the towels at the bottom of his hamper.

“I'm just saying you shouldn't feel embarrassed.”

Crowley wants the floor to swallow him up. His face flames up. “I... I told you to let me do the washing.”

“It's awful messy, huh?” He says, trying to make a joke out of this to put Crowley at ease. He really doesn't want to cause another one of those terrible attacks. Crowley's already had four this week. “Humans have so many bodily fluids to account for.”

“Not talking to you about this.” Crowley stammers out, turning to scowls down his clothes. He picks a hanger at random. He really doesn't want to talk about this.

“It's a human thing. It's no different from needing to eat or sleep.”

“It is very different, okay?!” Aziraphale doesn't know that Crowley has done _this _while thinking about him. Repeatedly. Crowley dresses quickly. The sooner he can get out of this room, the sooner Aziraphale might stop talking.

“It's natural. I don't know if you have much experience at this, but if you,” Aziraphale clears his throat. “If you had any questions-”

“Sat- Someone, Angel, _please_ stop talking. I'm dead already, please stop making it worse.” He can see Aziraphale formulating a response and is desperate _NOT_ to talk about this. “Why don't you get some real food, some proper food? _Please?”_

“Are you hungry?”

“I don't know. M' stomach feels a little grumbly.”

“That sounds like hunger.” It works, Aziraphale switches to concerned. “You should have said something earlier, Dear.”

“No chiding.” Crowley snaps. “When would I have? You've been so determined to talk. Besides, you said we'd eat after I showered and I showered! Therefor, it's breakfast time.” He throws the empty hanger to the side.

“I just don't want you to be ashamed of this happening.”

“Well, this conversation is working splendidly then."

<~>

Aziraphale lets him eat his breakfast in peace. Though he does keep shooting Crowley _looks_. And the former-man-shaped-now-actually-man knows that this isn't over. He's only delayed the awkwardness.

<~>

Aziraphale gives him a couple hours before he starts in again. “Now, I don't want you to feel bad Crowley, but the mess is a little much.”

Crowley sets his cup down. “Oh for hell's sake, if we're talking about this than I've been _trying_ to get better at that. Making a mess on things.”

“I'm rather good at it myself,” Aziraphale shrugs. “Or so I've been told. Won't you let me help you, Crowley?”

“I, er,” His trousers are too tight suddenly. And he wants, _oh_ he wants Aziraphale to _help_ him, though he has no idea what that entails. Or who has been telling him he's good at it.

Aziraphale looks at him from across the table and doesn't speak.

“You are an angel!” He finally manages to stammer.

“Sex is just another earthly pleasure. I would have expected demons to be all for it.”

“I am all for sex, it makes my job easier!" He blurts. "I just never paid too much attention to the particulars." He pulls him lips tight. "And I'm figuring it out.” Oh someone, please be merciful and let this conversation end!

“Yes, at the expense of my towels and sheets.”

“Half of those were not on purpose!” Crowley stammers, his face flaming.

“Well then let me show you how to manage yourself.”

“I don't need you to show me!” Crowley defends himself.

“You clearly do.” Aziraphale crosses his arms.

“I told you, I'm figuring this out. I'll be better at not making so much of a mess, now can we _please_ stop talking about this?!” He tosses himself down on the couch with a huff.

“Fine. I'm run out to the supermarket.” Aziraphale grabs his coat. “Got to get some things we forgot. And in the future can you please make an effort not to use my good towels. Please?”

“I already said I would try.” Crowley sulks.

“I'm only going to be gone for an hour or so. No one has caused any trouble so far. It's been a week, and I think as long as I don't go out the front door of the bookshop and just,” he holds up his hand like he's going to snap, “Then I think we'll be okay.”

“Yeah, fine. I'll stay here then.” he says, because as long as Aziraphale is gone, he's not talking about _THIS._

<~>

Aziraphale lets himself into the flat above the bookstore. It's an open layout, one of the reasons he hasn't used it much in the past. He prefers the clutter of the backroom over the space of the flat. He can see into the living room, though not that it matters. No one is there. He turns the other way. Crowley is asleep at his dining room table. It's hardly past dinner time.

Aziraphale glances at the sleeping man with irritation. Crowley is drooling on one of his books. Why had he been reading at the table? He'd better not have been eating while he was reading! The thought makes him mad. He sets the two bags down a little harder on the counter than he'd been planning on and Crowley shoots up at the noise, his hair at a funny angle.

“What the fuck?” One hand flies to Crowley's chest, the other coming up to wipe at his face with the back of it. Crowley grimaces at the drool, then catches sight of the open book. “Oh, oops. I'll just...” He leans forward and snaps. Nothing happens._ Oh right_. His face crumples. “Oh Zira, I'm sorry, I'll fix it when I'm back to normal.”

Aziraphale tuts over and takes the book away, closing it.

Moments ago he'd been upset, but Crowley looks so wrecked. “It's just a book.” He takes in the dark bags under Crowley's eyes and feels a little guilty for the way he reacted.

“You came back.” Crowley hugs Aziraphale tightly and his voice shakes.

“Of course I did my dear boy.”

“You said only going to be an hour or two.” Crowley holds Aziraphale tighter. “But then time kept passing and you were still gone!” He sobs. “and I kept thinking that maybe you _weren't _coming back. That maybe I was too much work, or that something had happened to you, And that our last conversation ended with me in a snit, so maybe it was my fault if you got hurt.”

“Crowley, dearest, I'm sorry, it took a bit longer than I thought it would to find all the things I was looking for. You're not too much work dear boy.”

“I was trying to read to myself like you do to calm down, but I just kept thinking something happened to you, and I'd never know, and then whoever made me human was going to find out I was here, and I'd have no way to stop them!” He rests his head on Aziraphale's shoulder as he cries. “But then I fell asleep and I messed up your book. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“shh. Shh." He rubs Crowley's back "It's alright dear. It's okay. I'm sorry I didn't call you to tell you I'd be late. That was my mistake. See, I mess things up too.” Aziraphale rubs his back until his cries subside. Then he guides Crowley over to the sofa, turning on the mindless cartoons that he knows Crowley likes. “I'm just stepping over to the kitchen for a moment, okay Crowley? I need to put some things in the fridge.”

Crowley nods.

Aziraphale makes tea while he unpacks the paper bags from the first store he had sent back to the flat with a wave. Some hold more food that he has made sure that it stays nice and cold on the counter which goes into the refrigerator, Miracles no longer needed.

Eggs have been a smashing success. Crowley really likes them. And cranberries. Aziraphale likes to try to keep as many different foods in the flat so Crowley can sample them all. He leaves the rest of the bags from the second store packed up and turns his attention back to his friend.

He brings the two steaming mugs over to the couch, giving one to Crowley.

“Have you had a chance to eat dinner?” Aziraphale asks carefully; it's not like he doesn't trust Crowley, it's just that he tends to lose track of time. “I haven't had a chance to yet, and I was thinking of cooking something.” Aziraphale is a much better cook than Crowley, as it turns out. He doesn't even watch videos online, just reads from books and learns thing.

“All I do is eat or sleep.” Crowley puts the tea mug aside and fiddles with his hair just to have something to do. It doesn't _listen_ to him anymore.

“Well grown humans do require quite a bit more of those things than you're used to.”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley gives up on fixing his hair. “Not good at taking care of myself, just making messes with your stuff. I'm the worst.”

“You aren't.”

“I am!” Crowley protests. “You've been nothing but good to me, and look how I repay you! All I do is destroy stuff.”

“A bit of drool or a crusty towel is hardly destroyed.” Aziraphale grabs his face and forces Crowley to look at him. “You are not the worst. I'm very happy to have you here.”

Crowley still looks upset, not quite convinced.

“Getting clothes was so much fun, wasn't it?” Aziraphale says gently.

“I guess.”

“And you said you weren't going to let me dress you up, but I notice you bought lots of the things I suggested." He says with the same gentle tone. "And you let me take you out to lunch. You kept eating even though I know you were full." He rubs Crowley's back. "And you went to the supermarket with me, even though it was scary too.”

“What's your point?” Crowley says, not even bothering to deny that the stores were scary to him.

“You're so sweet to me, dear boy. I would never have gotten to share those experiences with you before." He gently squeezed one of Crowley's hand before releasing it. "I like having you here. It's not always smooth sailing while we figure out this whole human thing, But you're not a hardship on me..."

"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you trust me enough to finally tell me when you feel like this. I'm glad you don't have to suffer alone anymore. I'm here for you and I'm not going to go away.”

Crowley scrunches his eyes closed. “For how long?”

“Oh, for you, forever and ever." He rests a hand on Crowley's knee. "Now don't you want to see what I bought?” He bumps his shoulder to Crowley's. “I got things for you at the electronic store. I know you like gadgets”

Crowley sniffles. “I guess."

They make their way over to the kitchen island. Crowley sits on one of the breakfast stools and watches him unload things.

“Aziraphale,” he says looking at the growing stack of boxes in front of him. “What in the world are all these alarm clocks? Why don't you just set alarms on your cell phone?”

“You think I have one of those smart-phones?”

“You don't even have a dumb phone” Crowley rolls his eyes as Aziraphale pulls out a fifth clock. “Your phone is still wired to the wall. Has dials and everything. Maybe if you had a cell phone I wouldn't worry so much.”

“I'm sorry dear. I didn't think about that. I'll figure something out.”

Crowley picks at the edge of a box. “Really, what are all these for?”

“Well!” Aziraphale groups three of them up together, “These three are for meals,” he points as he talks, “this one is for sleep, and this one is for exercise, which is supposed to be super important for humans.” He looks up at Crowley.

“Angel, I swear you're having more fun with this than I am.”

“I was going to get more, but you seem to have gotten the hang of going to the bathroom without needing to be prompted.”

“I don't need an alarm for sleep!" He muttered. "I fell asleep at the table ONE time.”

“and in the backroom, and in front of the telly quite a few times. You need more sleep dear. And neither of us are very good at remembering to keep you well fed.”

“Again ONE time of low blood sugar. Really I'm figuring things out.”

“You are... but you lose track of time. Hours don't stretch as far, and these are rather important things for you to do now.”

Crowley looks into the other bag instead of answering. ”What's this then?” He holds the bulky package up. It is surprisingly light.

“Oh. Those are tissues. They're like hankies you use one time and throw away.” Aziraphale explains. “Do me a favor and use those next time to clean yourself up with.”

“Erp!”

Though those aren't to go into the loo. Nothing down the toilet but bog roll.” He instructs. “I got set up regular for food deliveries too through the Supermarket.” Aziraphale looks rather proud of himself. “So handy what the humans are thinking up to nowadays.” He digs to the bottom of the bag. “And I got you some special things.”

“Oh?”

“This a thing of chocolate. Dark chocolate and cranberries." Aziraphale smiles as he passes it over. "I saw it at the supermarket and rather thought you'd enjoy it.”

Crowley takes the chocolate. “Thanks, Angel. Really.” Crowley’s stomach has gone all fluttery and he flushes a little. “guh, right, um."

"And I don't have the slightest clue what this thing is, but I'm told you can play games on it." He held out a DS in one hand and a couple game cartridges in the other. "So you have something to do when I'm at work. If you don't like the games I can get more."

Crowley stares at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times before his brain kicks into gear and he takes the things. "I...thanks?" His face flushes as he searches for words. He thinks he might cry for some reason. His throat feels tight and he swallows hard. "You were saying something about dinner?”

"I'll make dinner." Aziraphale smiles. "You just go back to watching your show!”

Crowley takes the boxes back to the couch and tries to figure out what the funny feeling in his gut is. Maybe hunger? He looks back at Aziraphale and then to the chocolate. Yeah, probably hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's emotions tend to be messy.


	6. Aziraphale seeks help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel makes a phone call  
The former-demon works in the bookshop.  
And the angel learns why he should knock on doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I keep tying up chapters of this on my phone late at night or early in the morning, Which is NOT easy to do when you have brain damage and your fingers don't like to do fine work like touch typing. But here, have another scene I didn't plan on but still wrote at 5 in the morning!

Aziraphale tries to account for the time difference. He has to stage this perfectly right. He doesn't want to call too late. He doesn't want Crowley to overhear. Nor does he want to leave him again when he's already in such a state. But it doesn't matter that he doesn't have Anathema's phone number. He knows when he picks up the phone that he will reach her.

She answers on the telephone sixth ring. He thinks at first he has gotten one of those horrible answering machines like Crowley but instead he gets something quite different.

"It's Midnight." She growls "How did you even get this number? We're unlisted. If you are going to try to sell me life insurance or a vacuum cleaner, I promise you I will carve you open with a rusty spoon and rearrange your organs and it will not be pleasant for you."

"Um.” Aziraphale is taken aback by the venom in her voice. Something tells him this is not the first late night/early morning call she had gotten. “Well, I didn't really. I was just trying to reach you.” he pauses “I'm terribly sorry, did you say it's midnight there? It's supposed to be afternoon. I was expecting you to go back to America."

"Obviously I did not."

"Right, obviously." He says dryly, remembering her threat. The humans really do think up creative things. "Miss, I'm terribly sorry, I will call you back at a better time. Again, sorry for the late call. Please no carving with rusty utensils."

"Hold up, Whatever it is, it must be important, or why else would you call me Mr. Apple Tree Duty?"

He worries the phone cord around his finger. "Well, truth be told I reached out to you because you're one of the only humans that I know. The other two are...” He chews on his lip. “Well, see, Crowley is in a spot of trouble, He's the snake, but we'll figure that bit out ourselves. That's not why I called. I just," He sighs.

"I'm in a bit over my head and I can't really do any meaningful research until I have an idea of what I'm looking for, and heaven knows Crowley will try to keep hiding this. And I keep running into a brick wall because I have no idea what I'm looking for. It's impossible to solve a puzzle when you've only got half of the pieces and the other half are being held by someone who spends most of their time insisting that there isn't a puzzle."

"Okay, I'm officially intrigued.” There is the sound of fabric rustling over the phone as she sits down. “I'm not Agnes if that's what you're looking for.”

“I'm just looking for a hint of a suggestion.” Aziraphale says. "this goes without saying that I'd prefer this to stay pretty quiet. I don't want to say too much over the phone. A certain devious serpent gave Hell the idea of twisting words that are broadcast, and I'd hate to be overheard or for you to hear me wrong." He glances in the direction where Crowley is sleeping.

"I haven't said anything about Adam, the apocalypse or the two of you, and really, who would believe me, they'd just lump it in as the mass-hysteria excuse they're going with"

"How much do you know about illnesses of the mind? Some things are happening, and we need to get them under control so we can focus on another situation.”

“That... That was not the question I was expecting to hear.” She pauses. “Illnesses of the mind? Human ones?”

“Yes. I'm just looking for a word.”

“A word?”

“I really shouldn't tell you over the phone. Someone might overhear me.” He weighs his options. Hell is supposed to leave them alone. They shouldn't be listening. But someone did this to Crowley.“ He has to know. It's a risk he has to take. “Do you know of anything that might make a person not think rationally for a while, get all nervous, and keep jumping to the worst possible conclusion, even getting physically ill?

“Oh, for fucks sake.” She says after a pause, “Did you call me at midnight because your boyfriend is having anxiety?”

Aziraphale pulls the phone away a bit. “Well, I don't think it calls for that language.” He pauses “He's not my boyfriend.”

“Snake husband, whatever you two are.”

“Friends.” Aziraphale sits up straight. "We're just friends!"

“...Right” she clearly doesn't believe him. She sighs. “You do know how to use a computer, don't you?”

“Vaguely. I'm familiar with the concept. Crowley has shown me a few things on his phone, but he's being rather stubborn about his perceived failings, and I just want to help. Whatever these things are, he's having a lot of them, and well, while I'm not on Heaven's books anymore, I'm still an angel. I can't just sit here and watch a good friend suffer. Things are already hard enough with this curse, we don't need to deal with this 'anxiety' or whatever you called it.”

“Go back, You're talking too fast again. Curse?”

“I really shouldn't have said that, I'm just a mite frazzled. Not to bother you with anything. It's not a big world ending drama like last time. We'll figure it out. I just wanted your help with the other thing.

She pauses for a moment then says, “Go on the internet. Look up anxiety, anxiety attacks, panic attacks and other mental health disorders. That should point you in the right direction.”

“That is very helpful.” Aziraphale says. “I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you so late in the evening with our problems. Once we get this sorted out, if you're still here in England, maybe we'll stop by for a visit. Do tea.”

“I'm not planning going too far, at the moment. But I'd better go back upstairs. No electronics around Newt. He tends to fry them.“

“Right then. Thank you very much for your help.”

“Just don't make a habit of calling me at midnight, if you please.”

“Rusty spoon, organs, got it.”

“Bye, then.”

“Cheers.” He places the phone back into it's cradle and then walks over to his antique computer and powers it up. He really doesn't like dealing with these things. He much prefers it when Crowley prints things out for him so he can avoid the colorful adverts and porn-site pop-ups.

He has been online exactly twice. Once to send paperwork to his accountant. The second time to watch a video about a baby duck that people kept bringing up. He puts on his reading glasses, pulls up the web browser, and slowly types: “What is anxiety, please?”

He spends much of the night like that; trying to understand.

He prints out several pages that he thinks might be important. Or hopefully he does. The printer whirs to life across the room and Aziraphale steps over to look at it. It is formatted a little odd, but the information is all there, so at least he had absorbed some of what Crowley had tried to teach him while they were setting everything up.

<~>

It is hours later, but still early in the morning. Earlier than Crowley typically gets up. Aziraphale thinks he's finally done with the computer, so he powers it down and stretches as he stands up. There is a book he wants to read next on the book shelf in the bedroom. It should be no problem for him to pop upstairs and get it.

He makes his way quietly up the stairs and creeps into the flat. If Crowley still is sleeping, he doesn't want to wake him up. His friend needs all the sleep he can get. The breakfast alarm won't go off for a couple more hours, so he still has some time to read. He makes his way over to the short hallway that leads to the bedroom and slowly opens the door.

He stares at the sight for a moment. Crowley has cast the covers off to the side. His pants are pushed down around his thighs, and his head thrown back in the pillows. His eyes are scrunched closed and he's panting. One of his slim hands is wrapped around his prick. His hips are twitching. He lets out a little broken whine that brings Aziraphale back to his senses. This is _wrong!_ He is intruding. He _shouldn't_ be here!

He closes the door as fast as he can without being noticed while still being silent and goes back downstairs, his face flushing as he tries to get that image out of his head. He'd offered to help Crowley, and by that he meant a general How-you-do and telling him to curb those urges!

He pulls on his tie to loosen it as he almost runs to the back room, thinking of other ways that what he said could have been taken. Crowley looked fantastic back there, but then he always does look nice. There was something to about the way Crowley looked, spread out on his sheets, sweaty, panting, needy. Just _OH!_

Sex can be a beautiful thing. Nothing to be ashamed about. It's human. But he is not human. He is ashamed. He _saw,_ and Crowley didn't know! Aziraphale sits on one of the chairs in the back room and miracles a cup of whiskey. He has told Crowley over and over that this is fine and normal. Good lord, what had he been thinking when he offered to help? He thought he might burst into flames now.

He drains the glass in one big gulp and sets the glass down. There is a familiar heat growing in his belly. It is _Crowley! _He reminds himself and lulls his head back on the top of his chair. _It's Crowley and you saw and lapped it all up_. The demon has always been out of his reach, off limits. But he's not a demon now...

Aziraphale brushes against the front of his trousers and wills himself rid of those bits. He doesn't need hormones right now! He has to figure out what he is going to say. He had to figure out how to _BE_ around Crowley when he felt the hardness of his prick before he wished it away. _Someone give him strength._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Scenes keep getting added to this. My drafts are titled like 6.3.3 because I keep adding stuff. But things are going to start pretty soon


	7. On The Edge of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward times and the fall-out.

Aziraphale knocks on the bedroom door that morning and waits for him answer. That's new. Aziraphale usually only gives him a brief knock right before he enters. “I, um,” Aziraphale doesn't look at his face.

“You?” Crowley drawls as he leans on the door frame.

“I have information! Anxiety!” He shoves the papers at Crowley. “Here, er, for you to read!”

“Okay?” He fumbles with the papers and briefly looks down at them. Aziraphale has almost bolted to the kitchen by the time Crowley looks back up. he bobbles his head and throws his free hand up. '_What was that about?_'

He can hear the angel in the kitchen starting to make breakfast. Aziraphale flat out refuses to look near Crowley when he steps into the room and sits at the table in his usual spot. The redhead watches the angel try very hard to avoid catching his eye as he bustles around the kitchen making the meal.

Aziraphale sets the full plate down once it's ready and starts to scurry off.

Crowley grabs his wrist. “Alright, Angel. Spit it out. I keep telling you that you'd be a horrible poker player.” He holds the printouts up. “Is there something in here I'm not going to like?”

“No, those papers have lots of handy things. I...” He chews on his lip. “I saw you!”

“You ...always see me?” Crowley says slowly, slightly confused. His eyebrows have drawn together in confusion.

“No,” Aziraphale slumps into one of the dining room chairs across the table from him. “I saw you in the bedroom this morning, when you were, er, pleasuring yourself. You didn't notice me.”

“Ngk!” Crowley's face does something interesting, rapidly flicking through emotions.

“And I...” Aziraphale stammers, “I keep talking about how masturbating is normal and fine, but I quite feel like I walked in on a private moment and I just feel awful.” He blinks rapidly. “absolutely wretched. Oh, let me just say, that bedroom is yours while you are here. If that door is closed, I will not enter. I shouldn't have done that this morning, I was just going to grab a book and I thought you were sleeping!”

Crowley feels flushed with embarrassment, but Aziraphale looks almost like he's close to crying.

“It's your house.” Crowley manages to say. Aziraphale _saw_ him_._

“And you are a guest in it!” He exclaims. “I should have respected your space! I'm so sorry!”

“Uh,” How much _exactly_ did Aziraphale hear? “I didn't notice you.”

“I was only there for a moment, as soon as I realized what was happening, I left.” Aziraphale explains rapidly. “I didn’t want to embarrass you further, I've already done so much of that this week.” Aziraphale cradles his head in his hands. “And my reaction is not because of _What_ you were doing. It's me realizing I had no right to be there. I violated your privacy and I am so terribly sorry.”

Crowley doesn't know how to reply, he knows he should be doing something, but he just feels lost.

Aziraphale swallows thickly. “Look, I'm going to work downstairs. Make sure you eat lunch, okay? I'll be back later to make dinner.”

Aziraphale walks away from the table quickly, leaving Crowley feeling like he is trapped on a capsizing boat. One part of his brain is screaming in panic, the rest of him is detached.

He eats his breakfast while reading through the papers just to have something to do. Anxiety attacks sound a lot like what happens to him. Anxiety...Seeing the words on the paper makes him feel validated. He's always thought that there was something inherently wrong with him, that he brought this on himself and should endure through it.

But if some of the humans have it too – maybe he's cursed them; God sending Adam and Eve out of the garden to suffer. If they have to suffer because of him, he's sorry. He doesn't want other people to feel like this. Not very demon-y, he knows, but he hates to see people in agony.

He hadn't even expected much of reaction out of her in the garden. Not for them doing something that the almighty had taken very little precaution to prevent. It was just knowledge. How could knowledge be such such a sin? He was just doing his job. Always asking questions. Of course he is suffering the repercussions of his demonic work. He always does.

This thought keeps him occupied for a few hours. He's able to brood over the fact that he only succeeds as a demon when he's not _actually_ trying. Eventually he goes through the rest of the papers in an effort to distract himself from his distraction.

There are tips and advice - he learns. It can be managed. There are even apps he can download on his phone. There are distractions, grounding tips, even breathing exercises. It's so common there are even support groups for it!

Then, he's finished reading the print-outs. He'll look up more stuff later he supposes, perhaps he'll download some of the apps.

<~>

He goes through the motions of the day, makes a sandwich for lunch when the alarm rings, picks up things off the floor in his room. Finally he sits down on the couch and plays with his phone, but not even twitter-feuds keep his attention for long. He thinks about things. He has spent the day trying not to think. But his thoughts spin.

He keeps tearing the conversation apart in his head now that he's no longer busy. He feels incredibly guilty. Far worse than anything before. Aziraphale is so upset by the thought that he might have overstepped, and all he can think about is how much he's gotten off by thoughts of the angel.

This isn't how he ever pictured Aziraphale reacting to seeing him. What had he been thinking, that Aziraphale would have climbed in the bed with him and taken over? Actually that thought feels like molten lava burning through him, and fuck! He wants that! He can't think of anything he's ever wanted more than Aziraphale's hands on him.

But first he has to straighten things out with his Angel. Sure, he is embarrassed, absolutely mortified at being overseen. But Aziraphale clearly feels so _bad _about it. Aziraphale, the one who has been so kind to him. So gentle and helpful. He's been tender and caring. Being around Aziraphale feels good. It's warm in a way that heat has never been. He doesn't want that to push Aziraphale away.

<~>

When Aziraphale climbs slowly up the stairs that evening, Crowley feels his breath start racing. Why is he nervous? It's just Aziraphale.

Aziraphale stands in the doorway, watching him, waiting.

Crowley puts down his phone and acknowledges him. “Can you come sit down already? I'd like to talk.”

Aziraphale does, he sits down like the couch is made of stone or burning iron and he sits as ramrod straight as ever.

Crowley thinks that perhaps he should have practiced more of how he wanted this conversation to go, because he's feeling less and less confident in himself now. He settles on: “I've decided I want things to be normal again.”

“Normal?” Aziraphale turns to look at him with his head cocked.

“I really didn't like today, spending the whole day thinking about how upset you were.” His lips curl in disgust. “You shouldn't be upset. This is your house. That's your bedroom, and we never talked about any rules for privacy. I don't even know what you're going on about. You think there was any privacy in Hell? There wasn't.”

Crowley exhales through his nose, quite aware he's rambling and can't seem to stop, and Aziraphale is too polite to interrupt. “And of all the awkwardness you've helped me through, this is... relatively... low on the embarrassment meter. It would be different if it was someone else. But it's you.” He leans over so he can bump Aziraphale's shoulder. “So can we please be normal around each other again?”

“Normal?” Aziraphale asks him after a while.

"Well, normal for us lately..." He finds himself almost begging. "Please? Today was wretched. I hated it, and I just want us to go back to how it was before yesterday, or today, whenever it was!"

“Of course we can, dear boy.”

Crowley lets out a little puff of air in relief.

"I'm going to try something new for dinner. How does chicken & mushroom puff pie sound?"

<~>

Days go by slowly, one boring day after another. Nothing happens. No one makes a move. It's insanely frustrating. Heaven, Hell, whoever did this to him, they're not acting. And they've had plenty of chances to take him out. The first couple of days after the change would have been the best time to go after. But nothing's happening and that makes him nervous.

By the end of the week Crowley declares that he's bored of hiding upstairs and will be spending his time down in the shop whether Aziraphale likes it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually 3/4ths of the chapter that I was planning on writing, but I'll be away from the internet for most of tomorrow, and I didn't want to leave it at that spot for too long!  
And I've kinda decided that splitting my attention between a bunch of different fics that have different tenses and different plots is a terrible idea because I'm not the greatest at keeping them straight in my head!


	8. Crowley gets the post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's boring around the shop. Until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next little bit. Things pick up now. :)

Crowley is up in the flat, leafing through a tabloid. Something with lots of gaudy prints and grainy photos. He isn't really reading it. He's always picked up these outrageous publications in the past because he thought they'd drive Aziraphale nuts, and now the angel thinks that he likes them and keeps tons around the flat, bringing up new ones for him every so often. Like a sort of peace offering.

“Will you come downstairs please?” Aziraphale interrupts one evening. “I have something to show you.”

Crowley puts down the magazine and looks up. Aziraphale looks as put together and cherubic as usual. There might even be a bit of glow in his cheeks.

There is still a bit of awkwardness between them, pauses where before there would have been easy conversation; avoided gazes, and asking things they'd never bothered to in the past. Things used to be natural, but now it feels almost forced and he's just trying to get the cogs lined up so that things go smoothly again.

“Yeah, okay. What's up, Angel?”

“Follow me.” Aziraphale says mysteriously. He leads them to the backroom and ushers Crowley inside.

His attention immediately draws to the glowing gold symbols on the wall. Crowley recognizes the strange letters. “Wot's this?” He asks, spinning around.

"I've been preparing, or at least trying to.” Aziraphale brushes his hand over one of the glowing symbols. “Some protection wards. I hid them better in the shop. I figured there was no need back here.”

“Er, yeah. I suppose they'd be hard to explain to the humans.” Crowley looks at him.

“Well, I wanted you to feel safe in the shop. Especially I wanted to make sure you could still be independent. I didn't want you to feel like you have to rely on me to protect you.”

“But you are.” Crowley slides down to sit in his usual chair. “You've done quite a lot of protecting me since this whole human thing happened.”

“Well, you always took care of me in the past.” Aziraphale sits in a chair near him.

“How long have you been working on this?” Crowley waves a hand at the letters on the wall

“Since you agreed to come here. I've had these wards up for most of the week." He shrugs. "They've been working alright I suppose, since we've not had any unexpected guests.”

Crowley absorbs that information. “You mean I've been sitting up there bored for no reason!” He huffs.

“I wasn't sure they even worked!” Aziraphale defends himself. “I didn't want to get your hopes up for no reason.” He straightens his already straight bow tie. “Though, I was honestly surprised how long it took you to go stir crazy upstairs." 

"The only things that are getting into this shop are humans. It's temporary, I'm not strong enough to keep them powered up forever, but at least for now it should be enough. Customers will probably be thrilled about me being open for more regular hours.”

“Stir crazy- wait, regular hours?” Crowley blinks a couple times. "You've never had regular hours. There's a twitter group that's dedicated to posting when you're open."

"What is a twitter?"

"Something on the internet."

Aziraphale waves his hand. He doesn't really care for the internet. “Seeing people in the shop should at least pass the time while we try and figure out how to fix whatever happened to you.” Aziraphale rests his hand on Crowley's arm briefly.

Crowley flushes, his heart skipping a beat. “Erg, yes. Figuring things out.” Oh, someone help him.

<~>

Being down in the shop, well, it's not much different from spending the day upstairs, except he spends more time with Aziraphale. He spends hours studying him, watching. There's a growing ache in his chest that he doesn't know how to deal with. At least his panic attacks seem to have gotten a bit better, now that he's got apps downloaded to his phone. And when one does hit him, he at least has Aziraphale's steady voice talking him through it.

There are some interesting “visitors” sometimes. Not customers. Aziraphale is borderline hostile to anyone who makes serious inquires about a particular volume on his shelves. However, if someone just stops by to browse around, and doesn't go making messes, then good things tend to happen in their lives. Crowley isn't even occult right now but he can practically feel the magic flowing off the angel. better, now that he's got apps downloaded to his phone.

If he still had his powers, he'd cause a little bit of mayhem to keep him occupied, just for fun, not because he has to balance the scales. It's a particularly slow day though. No one has come through the doors. Crowley sorts the post, to have something to do.

One of them is a glossy magazine with naughty articles and photos which have a bunch of humans in what can only be described as states of undress. There's lots of lace and ribbons. There are shiny leather bits,

He's seen this kind of thing before. He's used it for temptations, but this is the first time he's actually been able to see the appeal behind it. Well, not all of it. But he understands what the images are supposed to convey. “Angel, what is this?” He manages to squeak out.

Aziraphale picks up the magazine. “Oh, I get things from all the local businesses. It's always good to be friendly with the neighbors.

“That's for an adult shop!” Crowley stammers.

“A very reputable one. Their products are always well made." He sets the magazine behind the counter. "I thought about tying you up and using one of the gags once when you were annoying me because then I could at least get you to be quiet for however long it took you to get everything off."

“Ngk.” Crowley freezes. Aziraphale does too at the same time, realizing what he's said. They'd managed to avoid any topic that came close to involving sex.

And now that image is in Crowley's mind, his face replaces the model, all pretty and tied up, a gag muffling him; and knowing that Aziraphale put him in that state.

Oh fuck, now he is horny again. Bleeding heaven could his imagination _chill_ for one second.

His mouth does manage to talk without consulting his brain.

“Truss someone up?" He scoffs. "You're an angel. What do you know about tying someone up and gagging them?”

“I'm a principality." Aziraphale looks offended. "I had a flaming sword and everything." He rolls his eyes."And here on Earth I've found other ways to spend my time. Besides I've had no complaints from either the humans or Heaven.”

“Ggk.” That hits him like a load of bricks. “You've had SEX!” He stammers.

“Don't be a prude, Crowley."

"Kinky, raunchy, wild SEX!" He points a finger at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale bats his hand away. "We've been here for _6,000_ years. I thought this was implied with our earlier conversations."

“It's one thing to know about sex, but you _know.”_

Aziraphale throws his hands up. “Yes, Crowley.”

They stand there in silence for a few more moments.

“So.” Crowley blinks a few times. “you can have sex with the humans. What about me?”

Aziraphale chokes on his tongue. “Pardon?”

“Sex. I want to know about it. You know about it. It seems like the easiest way to go about it. You showing me.”

Aziraphale tugs on his shirt collar "A moment ago you were aghast that I'd even had sex."

"I'm human now. Humans don't always make sense. Let me embrace my humanity. You're the one who is always on about trying out human things. And you did say that you would help me."

Crowley has a point. He is human. It'd be one thing fraternize with a demon, but a much lesser thing than to lie with a human. And he is weak.

Like he always does, he eventually gives in to Crowley.


	9. Crowley convinces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a little bit of needling from your favorite Former Occult Entity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in a different tense, but I think I caught everything.

_<Earlier_ _>_

_Crowley stood up and pacing around the flat, full of restless energy. They got through dinner without saying much to each other, though they both kept glancing at each other._

_Aziraphale sat on the couch after they ate and turned the telly on to help the silence not be so loud. “Why don't you come watch the telly? There's that show you like with all the sassy old ladies on.”_

_Crowley came to the couch but didn't sit down, focusing pointedly on Aziraphale. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you some more.”_

_Aziraphale tensed. Crowley wasn't letting this go. Of course he wasn't.  
_

“_I don't know why I thought you'd know nothing about sex. You like to indulge in everything. But I thought, you know, you're an angel.”_

“_Don't tell me you buy into that whole 'virgin holiness'.”Aziraphale batted his hands around._

“_Definitely not. 'Purity Culture' was something Hell came up with after all.” Crowley rolled his eyes._

_Aziraphale spoke after a moment. "I, I don't like to deny myself things. I quite enjoy all the wonderful things that humans do. Food. music, clothes, books, so why should sex be any different?" _

“_Exactly.” Crowley exclaimed. "So, will you show me?" He cleared his throat and awkwardly touched the back of his head. "Please? I'll just keep annoying you until you do. We haven't made the slightest bit of progress yet, about figuring out what happened to me. If I'm not being all dramatic and having anxiety or whatever, I'm spending a lot of time trying to figure out how to get off...” _

_He sighed. “I know the basics. But it takes me ages, and I..." Crowley looked at the floor. "I don't know what I'm doing. You said that you would help me." He cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. “And you already know how everything works. Throw me a bone here.” He wheedled. “You're always introducing me to new things. Oysters for one. Why not sex?”_

_Aziraphale's heart stuttered in his chest. Crowley's reasoning was sound - and really, it might be the only time he got to do this. Once they have figured out how to return Crowley to normal, he was going to drop Aziraphale. The demon will be disgusted at the angel for taking advantage his emotional state. _

_But he selfishly wanted it._

“_Okay.” He said at last. Heaven give him strength. Let him get through this. This was the only time he would ever have. Demons didn't love. Teaching Crowley about sex might be the closest he ever got._

“_Wot, really?” His brow scrunching._

_Aziraphale tried to project calm. He could get through this. “We don't have to talk about anything right now. Just come sit on the couch with me and watch the telly.”_

_Crowley sat, too much energy still. His leg bouncing._

“_Crowley, nothing's going to happen right now.” Aziraphale assured him. “We're just watching TV. We can talk more about this after you've had a good nights sleep.” Maybe Crowley would wise up, realize that he was out of his depth and change his mind._

“_Just watching the telly.”_

“_Yes. Why don't you tell me about your day.” Aziraphale prompted him. “I can make dinner after this episode... You're going to give yourself an anxiety attack thinking about things, dear. Just take some deep breaths. We can get your nerves under control first.”_

“_I'm not nervous!” Crowley scowled_

“_Okay.” Aziraphale looked at him and back to the telly  
_

“_Really, I'm not!” Crowley crossed his arms with a huff._

_Aziraphale watched show, waiting.  
_

“_Okay, I'm a bit nervous. I thought you'd say no.” Crowley ran his hands through his hair. It was down again. Crowley hardly ever did up his hair these days. It was too much work to bother._

“_I had all these arguments prepared to try and convince you. I mean, wanking all the time like I'm in lower secondary is ridiculous. And you shouldn't have to put up with it. You've already done so much to help me.” Crowley shifted on the couch._

“_You've changed up everything for me, you took me to look at clothes, and to the supermarket. You do all the shopping and cooking. And you put up with my stupid anxiety.”_

“_Dearest,-” Aziraphale tried to cut in. Crowley was rambling, speaking too fast again._

“_No! I don't want you to agree because you feel obligated. If you're not comfortable then we can pretend this conversation never happened.”_

“_Crowley, I want to help.” Aziraphale assured him. “You're my dearest friend. If our situations were reversed, I know you'd take just as good of care of me. Sex, well It's just like eating and sleeping, all these things that humans have a lifetime to get used to. You practically got hit by a speeding train with all of these things.”_

_Crowley bit his lip. “Does it worry you? The fact that no one has tried to do anything? The longer I'm like this, the more I get used it it. If someone was going to do something, they would have done it already.”_

“_I'm hoping that just means we've been doing a good job of laying low and that my wards are working. I can feel if there's an angelic presence or a demonic presence around the shop. There have been none so far.”_

“_But someone did this!” Crowley tapped his finger on his leg. “If it was a punishment, they would have done you too, besides, Heaven and Hell are supposed to leave us alone. Maybe Hell went back on their word.” He worried at his thumb.  
_

“_I don't think so. They really were quite terrified that “you” got through the holy water trial thing.”_

“_Heaven too. About you.” He sighed, cradling his head in his hands. “I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out, if I touched something funny, or pissed someone off recently and I can't think of anything out of sorts.”_

“_There is nothing we can do but keep our heads down and wait for someone to make a move.”_

“_I suppose you're right.” He fiddled with the remote. “So you'll really show me how to do things?”_

“_Yes.” Aziraphale said simply. “But give me some time to think of the best way to approach this.” _

_And perhaps Crowley would decide that this whole thing is silly and call it off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm deaf and someone told me that I might have been pronouncing Crowley wrong. *dunk* So if you want to spell it out for me, that'd be great. I spent about 6 weeks calling Aziraphale "Az-Raf-Eye-El"  
But I got the Good Omens DVDs for Christmas, so I'm going to do my... sixth watch? idk, I've seen episode 3 about 8 times. I've heard that this show is even gayer with sound... But let me tell you, even as a deaf person, it's still pretty gay. (in a good way? I'm LGBT+ and they make me happy) I just want to write a million stories where these two end up happily ever after.


	10. Crowley gets caught, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught, Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has stepped up, though the real fun stuff comes a bit later. This is more of a brief set up to get us to the second act.  
NSFW chapter ;]

Sunlight filters through the gauzy living room curtains of flat, falling on the couch and bathing it in warm light. Crowley is slumped cozily on the tartan couch watching telly. Or, at least he's trying to do so. The beeb has some romantic drivel on but he can't even follow the plot. There's a character that keeps reminding him of Aziraphale. A younger, more made up version, but his voice. _Oh_, when he closes his eyes, he imagines it is Aziraphale. Thinks of his angel, all dressed up with painted lips and lined eyes, looking at him coyly.

Crowley palms himself over his pants that image in his mind. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. He tosses his head back to rest on the cushions, grinding up in his hand. The shop doesn't close for a couple more hours. He'll clean everything up before his angel gets home. He's got time.

He's still wearing his sleep bottoms. He hadn't bothered getting dressed this morning, and he curses himself for that. There's no easy access in these. They're baggy, yet the thin material feels too tight. He pushes again into the curl of his fingers and tries to undo the drawstrings of his trousers one handed while imaging Aziraphale. He's always had an excellent imagination, been able to conjure galaxies without much effort, this was nothing.

“Hello- _Crowley._” It takes him a minute to realize that Aziraphale is really there in person, speaking to him.

“Erp.” Crowley startles, blinking owlishly up at the angel like he his powers have somehow returned and conjured him here.

“I decided to close up early.” Aziraphale stammers. “I didn't realize you were busy.”

Crowley pulls his hand out of his pants, wiping it on his shirt. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Ok. Let's just pretend this didn't happen.” He doesn't want another incident like the last one. He can't stand that, not again so soon.

“I did offer to help.” Aziraphale says after a while.

Crowley's head whips up. “Gn'ah?”

Aziraphale clears his throat. “I mean. If you still want me to show you things.”

Crowley blinks a few time. “Why wouldn't I?” He squints in confusion. Oh someone, is he trying to get Aziraphale to do stay? _NO._ He wants him to leave. Fuck, he's so mortified to be caught at this _again._ But he also wants to know just how the angel will help him but he's scared that all his filthy fantasies will spill out and the angel will be horrified. But he doesn't know how to explain that to Aziraphale.

“Alright then, dear.” Aziraphale fiddles with his bow-tie as he crosses the room, the silence dragging out between them.“ Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Of course I trust you.” Crowley scoffs. “Wouldn't have come here otherwise.”

Aziraphale smiles at him before sinking to the ground in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Crowley cocks his head in confusion, studying him.

“Helping you.” He gives Crowley a small smile. “This is one of the things I'm very good at.” Aziraphale's fingers trail slowly up his sleep bottoms. “I do enjoy it a great deal, though I assure you that you'll enjoy it a lot more. It does give me quite the-” Aziraphale looks up at him, a smug grin on his lips, before his fingers hook around the waist of his bottoms, “satisfaction.”

Crowley inhales shakily.

“Let's get rid of these, shall we?” Aziraphale tugs on the material a fraction. “Of course, if this is too much for you, we can stop.”

“No!' Crowley manages to yelp. He doesn't know what he wants but the sight of Aziraphale between his knees leaves him breathless, and he doesn't want the angel to leave.

“Then my dear, lift up. Off with these, if you please.”

His bottoms and pants slide down to the floor, cool air hitting his skin. Aziraphale pushes him back until he's sitting on the couch again. Bare except for his loose shirt.

“The thing about this, you'll enjoy it more if you don't skip straight to the finish line. The human body has so many different erogenous zones.” He lightly drags his nails across Crowley's calves and across the meat of his thighs, pulling them apart. Crowley whines, if he'd been embarrassed earlier, he is well past mortified now.

“Have you been _exploring_ your body?” Aziraphale is still scraping at his skin.

“I-” he tries to think. “Clearly.”

“I meant, like I'm doing now.” He says patiently, Crowley's not being deliberately obtuse, he has to remind himself. “Foreplay, a spot of teasing.”

Crowley tilts his head back. “N..no.”

“You should give it a try next time. Use varying pressures, try different spots. Every body is different. Though some things are constant.” Aziraphale nips at the base of his inner thigh and Crowley makes a sharp hissing noise, that sounds nothing like his snake form and bucks up.

Aziraphale uses his hands to hold tightly onto Crowley's hips, swiping his thumbs across the redhead's hipbones. “Stay still, dear boy. I know it's hard.”

Crowley tries to pay attention. Tries to keep still. He _does_ try. Aziraphale takes him into his mouth, sucking and tonging at the head of his prick like an ice lolly. “Oh fuck!” His hands fly out, and if Aziraphale didn't have still have a firm grasp on his hips, he for sure would have pushed forward.

Aziraphale pulls back off. “Hands in my hair, dear,” he gently guides Crowley's hands down. “Hold on to my head.” Once Aziraphale is certain Crowley has had a chance to compose himself, he starts again.

Aziraphale's tongue traces along the vein at the bottom of his shaft, moving slower so that Crowley doesn't get overwhelmed too quickly. He's supposed to be teaching, after all. “You're too stiff, dear boy. Relax.”

“Ah, Azira-phale.” Crowley pants. His fingers thread through blond curls. Aziraphale's hot breath on his flesh. It's never been this intense before. He forces himself to untense.

“Don't forget about these dangly bits. They like attention too. But gentle.” Aziraphale fondles his bollocks. “Oh, look at you, you're not going to remember any of this.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “I suppose you can be forgiven for that. Let's just get you used to the sensations, hm?”

How can Aziraphale be so composed? He feels like he's both melting and being ripped apart.

“I really am quite good at this part. That's not pride, it's a fact.” Aziraphale looks up from behind his lashes. “I've had quite a long time to practice this, you know.”

Aziraphale wraps his plump lips around Crowley, sinking down. His smell is muskier here, in this nest of course curls. It always is. He keeps his tongue and fingers moving and his teeth carefully out of the way. He doesn't even mind too much when Crowley's control snaps, and he thrusts roughly into his mouth. He takes it as a compliment, relaxing his throat and savoring in the salty, bitter taste.

Crowley doesn't last long. It's too much. He doesn't know the signs well enough. One minute he's clinging onto Aziraphale, and the next, he's plunging into rapture.

He's overwhelmed with feelings and a shattering bit of clarity.

Aziraphale made him feel like this. Aziraphale knew what he needed, and he gave it to him.

And things make sense. They're clearer than they've ever been 6,000 years of stumbling along and wanting more, and _this,_ this is what he wanted. What he needed.

He wants to make Aziraphale feel like this.

Never wants the angel to do this with another.

He wants this. He wants Aziraphale.

He sits there, panting, his world rocked.

When he can see again Aziraphale has a blob of white stuff, _his_ stuff trickling out of the corner of his mouth. The angel is digging around his pockets for a handkerchief and suddenly he wants to taste it, to taste Aziraphale.

He swoops down, tongue cleaning off Aziraphale. It's salty, he didn't expect that, and bitter, so very him. And he forces his tongue past Aziraphale's lip, chasing after that taste.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protests. Crowley licks into his mouth, trying to taste Aziraphale. “Wait, stop!” Aziraphale pulls away. “It's just hormones.”

“No angel. I want to taste you.” Crowley tries to dip his head back down but is held off. “6,000 years, Angel.” He groans. “I've been wanting something but I didn't know what. I need you.”

“You don't really feel that.” Aziraphale pulls away. “You're going to find this whole thing embarrassing when you can think straight again, dear.”

Crowley wants to cry. Aziraphale just brought him the most glorious pleasure he'd felt in a very long time, and now isn't listening to him. “Angel...”

“Why don't rest up? I'll bring you tea. Just the way you like it?”

Crowley dresses again stiffly. He doesn't want to be coddled. He wants... He wants, he doesn't know what he wants, but it's not this.

Crowley broods angrily. Hormones! The angel wants to blame it all on hormones! Crowley very well knows his own mind, thank you. Just because he didn't have a name for it didn't mean it wasn't there, floating in his mind. It just took being human for those floating bits in his head to make sense. Give him a bit longer as a demon and he probably would have gotten there.

Then again, maybe not. Aziraphale had heaps and heaps of knowledge about this. Clearly Crowley wasn't the only person that Aziraphale had been with. Had he been having sex this whole time? Seemed awfully selfish that he'd never shared this bit with him. Maybe he'd assumed that since Crowley was a demon, he knew. Had there been little bits and pieces that he'd missed out on? Little nuances he'd overlooked?

Ugh, and Aziraphale would dismiss anything out of hand now, insisting it was because he was human! Because it couldn't be the truth.

Well, if the truth is going to be ignored, then maybe a little falsehood wouldn't hurt. More of a cover up. He just needs to give Aziraphale time to warm-up to the possibility before he brings it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2020 y'all. I'm ringing in the new year writing smut. And it's only 10 pm, so I made good on my plans to get this posted before the ball drops. ;)  
edit: edited the end a tad


	11. Sex Ed pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is tired of walking on egg shells, so he takes action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this word document up for 3 days while I tried to edit things. I'm still not sure how this little PWP idea grew a plot, but here we are 11 chapters in, and we're not even to the sex yet. Closer though.

It's a Tuesday. He's been on this Earth for somewhere around 300,000 Tuesdays, if he's done the math right. (312,870 Tuesdays. 6000 years, 3 months, 1 day, 12 hours, 53 minutes and 20 Seconds to be precise. It has been a lot of Tuesdays.) There's nothing special about this particular Tuesday. Crowley watches Aziraphale reorganize his shelves in some peculiar manner that only he can figure out. Perhaps by the authors favorite color.

The two of them have been carefully avoiding discussing their earlier 'mishap' for a few days now, trying to make things as normal as possible. “You had any more luck figuring out what happened? Ya know, to me?” Crowley breaks the silence. “I mean to make me human.”

“Not yet.” Aziraphale shelves another book from his stack.

“Yeah, me either. Although my contact list is a lot shorter than it was before the whole Apocalypse.” He snorts. “I'd blame it on Hastur, but he might have literally shat his pants when you survived the holy water. Kinda wish I'd been there to see it.” Crowley's grin fades when Aziraphale only hums in response.

“Well then I guess I'll keep on with it. Not like I have much of a say in the matter.” Crowley fidgets. The angel fidgets, not him, but today he can't seem to control his fingers. “About the other day...” He says, tired of dancing around it and Aziraphale ignoring it. “When I had feelings...”

Aziraphale sets the pile of books down, looking put off. “You always hate me implying that you feel things.”

“I feel things, lots of things." Crowley defends. "Boatload of feelings, that's me.”

“None of them nice things, remember? You don't do nice, as you are quite fond of reminding me.” Aziraphale turns to look at him.

“Nice isn't the same as good. We both know your side is nice, but they were going to burn you anyways.” Crowley frowns.

“They aren't my side anymore.” Aziraphale looks at him softly. “I'm on our side, remember?”

_Oh_, oh. Is it possible to love this angel any more? Crowley swallows. “I... I want to learn more.” He blurts out. That hadn't been how he'd planned on broaching the subject.

“You do?” Aziraphale blinks in surprise.

“You know a lot more than me.” He tries to recover.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Crowley shuffles “And you're confident about it. I want to be that way too. You said I just needed to get used to the reactions it causes. I could hardly think when you were touching me.” He just has to keep his feelings out of this. For Aziraphale. He needs to get used to sex, and Aziraphale needs to get used to him. “Ergo, I need to you to show me more.”

<~>

Aziraphale drags his feet about actually doing anything. He's printed out things. They've kind of talked. Crowley has made a point of brushing off any hint of emotions. They talk some more. Aziraphale prints off _diagrams_ for Hell's sake. There's so much talking. But that's it. Crowley thinks he's going to go out of his mind if something doesn't happen again soon. He has an idea of what he's asking for. But Aziraphale seems to be hesitant about actually taking that last step again. Because of Crowley's feelings.

Oh drat that. If only he had been able to keep things to himself. He doesn't understand them, his feelings. But he wants, and his body needs Aziraphale to touch it again. He yearns for Aziraphale to fill up the empty spaces in his soul and never leave. He want, well, everything, but what he wants most right now is Aziraphale.

Crowley is impatient. He's never denied himself something he wanted before. And his body is _clearly receptive_ to the idea. But Aziraphale, he's been talking too long, and he in agony. He needs _something._

_<~>_

Crowley has been putting a lot of work into this, setting things up, drawing things out; trying to give Aziraphale an opening. He's slowly wanking in the bedroom, his door open. He can hear Aziraphale on the stairs. His heart pounds a little in excitement. _Finally. _He's been on edge for ages it feels like.

“Crowley? I'm back.”

_Obviously._ He calls. “In here."

Aziraphale steps into the hallway then looks past the open doorway, taking a moment to absorb what he sees. Crowley, wearing one of Aziraphale's old jumpers and a pair of sleek black pants pushed halfway down his thighs, His trousers have already been discarded on the floor. Crowley is running a hand over himself. Up, and down.

“I thought I'd give you a second chance.” He slides his hand over his thigh. “At this. You felt so bad about the first time.”

“Oh, you thought, did you?” Aziraphale slowly draws into the room. There's heat in his voice. He slowly undoes his bow-tie and pops the top button of his shirt as he walks into the room. He doesn't stop there. He takes the cuff-links out of his shirt, rolling up the sleeves.

“Pants off.” Aziraphale says.

Crowley's breath hitches. “Ahg.” Sweet blessed fuck, does that voice get to him. He shimmies his pants the rest of the way down once his brain is able to think again.

“Decided to take matters into your own hands?” Aziraphale deposits the cuff-links on the dresser top before he turns around.

“You were taking too long.” Crowley tugs on the bottom of the jumper. “You want this off too?”

“No.” Aziraphale looks at him. “I think you'd prefer it on. You chose that look for a reason.”

Crowley did. He knows he looks good, the neck of the jumper sliding off one shoulder, the blue of it contrasting nicely with his pale skin. He'd thought he'd look even better in green, but that was outside of the angel's color palate. He'd wanted to look tempting. He'd even done his hair.

“And now you're up here, half naked, touching yourself, Well,-” Aziraphale corrects himself, “You were. Don't stop on my account. Give me a demonstration. Show me what you've learned. You've always been a vain creature.”

Crowley makes a low noise in the back of his throat. Something burns through him. Fucking heaven. Aziraphale ordering him around, watching him... he bites his lip and sprawls backward on the bed, taking himself into hand.

“Well, there's your first problem. Lubrication. Your body does make some eventually, but it doesn't feel good to pleasure yourself dry.” He digs through the nightstand and comes up with a clear bottle. “It's slick, like oil. Easier to clean too. Hold out your hand.” He pauses. “No the other one. You've got to stop touching yourself for a little.” Aziraphale pours some into his hand. “Smear that around.”

Crowley moves to obey.

“Careful, it's cold.” He says too late.

Crowley hisses. Being cold blooded, he has always hated cold things. But it almost feels nice now. He's too hot. He feels like he's melting.

It warms up quick enough. Crowley's hand makes wet squelching sounds. “Fuck, fuck.” He says breathy, his head thrusting back to the pillows.

“It'll feel better if you fix your grip.” Aziraphale moves over to him. He adjusts Crowley's hand. “Like this, are you paying attention?”

Crowley wants to make a joke about Aziraphale acting like an actual teacher, but he's burning. It takes his breath away.

“You've got five fingers on that hand. Use your thumb. Swirl around.” He pantomimes.

“Good boy. Just like that.” He says when Crowley does it.

Crowley lets out a strangled cry moments later, spilling all over his hand.

“Don't feel bad, dear, you'll build your stamina up. Everyone always starts out like this.”

Crowley's chest is heaving. “Bleeding something...” Crowley shakily pulls his hand away. “Never - so fast.”

Aziraphale waves and the mess is gone. Crowley falls gracelessly face-down on the bed after tossing away the jumper.

“Oh, my dear, you didn't think this was done, did you?”

Crowley manages to prop himself back up on his elbow and cock an eyebrow.

“Zira?”

“You're human body has what is called the refractory period. It'll be about half an hour before you can really 'get excited' so to speak. Women can just keep on flying, Us, though, men have to wait.”

Crowley groans and sinks back down. “Angel, lecture me later.”

“I did have plans you know. But maybe it's better this way, maybe you'll last a little longer.”

“Plans?” Crowley tilts his head back.

“Impatient boy.” He t'sks his tongue at him.

Oh someone. That tone makes him want to beg. Whatever Aziraphale wants, he can have it. “Please.” He says mindlessly. Wantonly. He doesn't know what he wants, other than to hear that voice again, for Aziraphale to give him another chance.. “Zira, please.”

“Remember how we talked about 'self-pleasure' and how your prick is only one part of the equation. There are different parts of the body that work for different people. There are some areas that are pretty standard, though the level of sensitivity varies.”

“Lecturing...” He drawls.

“You're supposed to be paying attention.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Fine. If you don't want to listen. Then I'll show you.” He digs around in the drawer for another bottle and miracles it warm. “I'm going to touch your feet now, and you're going to lay down on your stomach and stay nice and still for me.”

He swallows. Oh someone, “ggk.” Aziraphale could have told him that he was going to peel off all his skin, and as long as he used that voice, Crowley would let him.

Crowley obeys quickly, laying back down. Aziraphale massages his feet, then his calves with deep strokes and deft fingers. Crowley mashes his face into one of the pillows whenever the sensations become too much. Aziraphale spends what feels like ages rubbing on his back. It feels so good, but it's also torture. By the time he works his way to his buttocks, Crowley is making little mewling noises in the back of his throat, while trying his best to stay still.

“Turn over.”

Crowley whines and complies “Angel, angel, please.”

“I told you to be still.” Aziraphale picks up the massage oil. “That includes your mouth. I'm only halfway done.”

Crowley snaps his jaw shut and grinds his teeth. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to control his breathing.

Aziraphale pours some of the oil onto his chest, working it into the skin, his hands brush over one of Crowley's nipples and he jerks, just barely containing his whine.

“Sensitive. I'll have to remember that.” He says, then proceeds to do it again, this time with both hands. He tweaks them, pinches, lavishes them with attention before moving on. He does each arm slowly, moving down to Crowley’s thighs.

“Ticklish.” he says as he brushes against Crowley's sides.

He drizzles more of the massage oil onto Crowley's thighs. He inhales sharply as Aziraphale keeps his movements light, teasing.

Crowley is resolutely trying to remain still. He's biting his lip with his eyes closed.

“There. All done.”

“All done?” Crowley whines, his face twisting. “Angel, you're a fucking tease.”

“We agreed that we're not going to do anything further than touching till you get used to it.”

“Fuck. Touch me then.” He squirms on the bed. “Please, Aziraphale.”

“Like this?” Aziraphale skims his hands over Crowley's thigh.

“No.

“Like this?” He moves his hand upward to flick his thumb over one of the nipples

“More!” Crowley whines pitifully. “If you won't do it, I will.” Crowley threatens after a moment, moving to take hold of himself.

“No, you won't.” Aziraphale grabs both wrists and pulls them upwards, his weight keeping them above Crowley's head.

That causes a spurt of precome to gush out.

“Liked that, did you? Should have figured you'd like it rough.”

“Zira...” Crowley thrusts his hips up, trying to get some sort of contact. “Please!”

Aziraphale moves so he can hold both wrists with one hand, miracling more of the oil onto his hand. He finally gives Crowley what he wants, curving his fingers towards his palm and stroking him.

“FUCK.” Crowley slams his eyes closed, trying to breathe.

“See, it's more intense with a bit of foreplay, I could have jumped right to this, it wouldn't have felt as nice.

There are actual tears in his eyes. “Zira, zira, zira.” He chants and then remembers he is supposed to be trying to keep those feelings pushed away. “Please!” He begs, then bites down on his lips, lest his traitorous mouth spill again.

“Hush, dear boy. I know what I'm doing. We talked about this.”

“No talk.” Crowley pants. “Just do.”

“Yes, That is what I'm trying to do.” He twists his hand.

Crowley keens.

It's over too soon, but at least this time he manages to keep himself from throwing himself at Aziraphale, so he counts this as a win.

He lays there, panting and trying to catch his breath. Satan in Hell that was magnificent. “You didn't tell me about the whole restraining thing.” Crowley says when he trusts his tongue to behave.

“Er yes, that's not a vanilla type of thing. I suppose I should have warned you.”

“Nah, I liked it.” He flops on the bed. “Was good. All good.” Crowley is boneless, he feels a bit like he's floating.

“How about a bath?”

“Now?”

“It will feel nice. Let me take care of you.”

Crowley does. And when Aziraphale leaves him alone in a hot bath with clouds of foam, he can almost pretend that Aziraphale is doing this because the angel wants. He has no doubt Aziraphale loves. Aziraphale loves everything. But loving and wanting are two different things – and he wants, oh he wants Aziraphale to want him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wants to jump off the deep end, he's discovered kinks and will run with it.  
I'm writing this story at two different points, so it's like, Oh yeah, let's have some good times, Let's see where we're at *Opens drafts* "Another chapter of smut" or "son done fucked up bad"
> 
> Now edited out that copy/paste drone text that I'm pretty sure came from tumblr, but I don't remember copying. If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you didn't read the earlier draft and you're fine!


	12. The one where they have visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you will not believe the day I had yesterday. It started out with me waking up with a pinched nerve in my arm (turns out you CAN fuck up sleeping with a bent elbow) and not being able to bend it, and ended with me, the dog, and my husband huddled in the bathroom because we had 6 weather alerts and a tornado possibly hit 30 minutes from our apartment. On top of that, one of the hinge on my laptop screen is broken again AGAIN on my laptop screen. I’m probably messing it up further, but I have it propped up on my phone so the screen edge isn’t bulging out. I didn’t use it at yesterday cause I was scared of damaging the actual display, but it seems to be working okay propped up my phone! Now, on with the show!

After that, things get a little wild. Well wild-er. Or at least a lot more exciting. It's like a flood-gates have been broken open. Crowley has plenty off chances to get used to 'the sensation' of sex. - Can he call it sex when it's just a glorified hand-job or a blow-job?

_Whatever_ he wants to call it, it's **splendid** and Aziraphale indulges him every time.

... All over the bookstore-

... All over the flat-

Anytime he goes looking, the angel is _there _ready and willing.

Honestly, Crowley didn't plan on doing this, but Aziraphale indulges him in the same way the angel eats food. Enthusiastic and passionately. Crowley thinks he's gotten off more in these last few weeks then ever. He was hoping to curb these urges, but with Aziraphale 'tempting' him, how can he stop? He's so horny sometimes he can't think sometimes.

Crowley's world is spinning. Aziraphale _does_ things and Crowley _wants..._ what does he want? He needs _something_ but he isn't sure how to ask for something that he doesn't have the words for. Maybe Aziraphale will _understand_, know what he needs. The angel is happily giving him this. He's gleefully 'showing him the ropes'.

Aziraphale gives him directions – orders that are hastily obeyed. It's thrilling and exciting, but most of all it's enjoyable.

And it's not only 'bedroom stuff that Aziraphale does. The two of them are still learning how to actually _be_ human. Aziraphale is adamant about Crowley staying behinds the protections in the book shop. The earlier days they had been lucky, but by now someone could have had time to prepare.

It would be a _lot_ easier to hurt Crowley outside the shop than to hurt him while he is in it. Aziraphale offers to have spells done on the Mayfair flat as well, but Crowley just scoffs and says: “Don't be ridiculous, I'm fine here angel.” And that's that.

They play a lot of board games and card games, where Aziraphale discovers Crowley is still a terrible cheat still, just sloppier and more obvious about it. Aziraphale pretends not to notice him doing it. It's for the best, really.

They watch movies sitting on the couch. Aziraphale is the WORST being to watch films with. He asks a million questions (Most are met with 'watch and find out'.) He comments on everything, and Crowley has to find older movies, because modern ones are way too confusing and have to many references to pop culture. It should be exasperating, but somehow at the end of the night he's glad to be spending this time with Aziraphale.

Crowley tries not to ask too many questions himself, questions were what made him fall in the first place. But Aziraphale doesn't mind answering him when he asks things. They have a lot of debates and discussions, for now without alcohol because Aziraphale is afraid that Crowley will too drink too much for a human.

This means that their banter and musing are more coherent than usual. Whenever Crowley has a question about something that Aziraphale doesn't know, the angel will pop down to his shop. He doesn't know what sort of research Aziraphale does, but he usually comes back in a couple of hours with an answer.

Sometimes Aziraphale cooks, sometimes they eat take out. And they talk. A lot. They tell each other stories from past lives. They talk about the things that they miss about the past, languages no longer spoken; practices that have fallen to the wayside and become lost. And they laugh about some of the things that history has gotten quite wrong.

Aziraphale's eyes grow distant as he remembers things and Crowley gazes fondly at him. How many years has he been doing this? Doting as he watches Aziraphale talk, eat, or just exist? Yearning all this time. Part of himself is missing - his powers feel like an empty hole that someone ripped away. But it also feels like there is an angel shaped hole that only Aziraphale can fill.

<~>

It's late afternoon when Crowley decides that there's nothing good on the telly and goes to seek the angel out. He's bored and Aziraphale will _gladly_ distract him.

“Hello, Angel.” Crowley says when he finds Aziraphale around in a dark corner of the bookshop. It's all dark and dusty, with a musty smell. Aziraphale says it's simply an illusion to keep customers away. He'd never let his books actually be damaged.

Still, Crowley is glad for the dark, and it's a Thursday. The shop is empty, and it's not likely to have anyone else walk through those doors today.

Crowley goes to make it so that anyone who comes near the front door will decide they have something more pressing to do then shop. But then he remembers he can't do those things anymore. It's just a little sting now, each time he's reminded. He doesn't understand _why_ he's human, but they'll fix this. He'll get his powers back. He'll be himself again soon enough.

For now, he just wants to pass the time.

Aziraphale looks as delicious as always when Crowley finds him, his curls perfectly sprung, his bow tie straight, and his jacket discarded.“Good day, dear boy, how are you?”

Crowley makes a dramatic face.“I'm so bored Angel.” He pouts cocking his hip.

“Oh dear, we can't have that.” Aziraphale tuts and turns to him. “What about that gaming thing you like to play?”

“I beat the DS game.” Crowley replies.

“The telly?”

“Nothing good on” Crowley counters.

“The interwebs?

Crowley makes a pained face. Aziraphale had to be doing this on purpose. “Nothing interesting on any of my apps.”

“Well, I have another hour before I close.” Aziraphale looks around. “Perhaps I can find something for you down here to distract you?”

“Hm,” Crowley leans against a shelf. “I was thinking of a different sort of distraction.”

Aziraphale looks at him scandalized. “I'm at work!”

“No one's going to come in, and even if they did, we're all the way back here surrounded by these dark narrow shelves.” Crowley waves a hand around.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and yanks him off the shelf and spinning around to him back against the wall. “Such a naughty boy, you are. Always greedy for more. I'm working and you can't wait.” He snaps his fingers, and flips the open sign over.

Crowley inhales sharply when Aziraphale tugs his head to the side sharply by his hair. “I am greedy.” His breath trembles. Aziraphale goes from 'nice, bastard of an angel' to 'bastard in charge' and it makes his knees go weak each time. And Aziraphale moves him like he weighs nothing.

Aziraphale does something different this time, he bites Crowley's neck and then licks and sucks on it.

Crowley cries out.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Aziraphale lets go of his hair. “Was that too much?”

Crowley almost whimpers. “If you don't put your hands back on me and do that again right this very moment, I'm going to,” Crowley waves his hand around “I don't know, _do_ something.”

Aziraphale chuckles. “That's your threat? Do something?” Aziraphale threads his fingers through Crowley's hair and carefully tugs it a little too rough and lavishes the other side of the redhead's neck.

Crowley whines. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“If you had been more patient, I could have done this all over your body. I have to admit, I didn't expect you to be so responsive to touch.”

Crowley gasps, thinking of Aziraphale's mouth not just on his prick, but sucking and nibbling on the rest of him. His human eyes are so blown with lust they look black, and he can't stop himself from thrusting, trying to get some relief.

“Angel,” he begs. “Please, I want more.”

“Of course you do.” Aziraphale kisses his neck lightly and works his hand into Crowley's trousers. He sucks on the pulse point when he finally strokes him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Hush.” Aziraphale admonishes. “I won't hear the door if you're too noisy.”

Crowley doesn't stop, but he tries to be quieter. It's hard though when Aziraphale is doing this. It's new and it's different. Aziraphale is holding back, he can tell, and oh, does he wish his powers were back. He wants Aziraphale to bite down hard. He wants to be marked for everyone to see. Most of all he wants Aziraphale to let him do this back. He wants to make the angel feel as good as he does.

"_Ahrm_". A voice from behind them interrupts.

Aziraphale freezes, his hand still down Crowley's trousers.

Crowley's heard drops backwards onto the shelf. "Oh for Satan's sake, I figured you locked up." He pauses. - He knows that voice. "_Book_ girl?" He looks past Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale carefully extracts his hand and cleans Crowley up before turning around. "Young lady, a closed sign means closed."

"Not if you don't lock the door." She looks over at Crowley. "And my name is **not** book girl for the last time. It's Anathema."

"Well whatever your name is, why are you _here?"_ He tries to sound like he and Aziraphale didn't just get interrupted. His voice has no bite though. It's more of an exasperated whine. His breathing is still too fast.

"I am here,” She puts her hands on her hips, “because these random bits of communication are getting - look if you want my help, then explain to me what is going on!" She looks at them expectantly.

"Angel, what is the witch talking about?" Crowley finally looks up, looking bewildered.

Anathema gives him a look."I'm not a witch, I'm an occultist.” She focuses on Aziraphale. “You wanted the strongest person in the area and that is me."

"You could have called, set up a time." Aziraphale grumbles, "We were occupied."

"Yes,” She says, “I see that..."

Newt stumbles into shop behind her. "Sorry, I couldn't find parking, and the sign says closed, so I wasn't sure if it was the right one or if I should come in!"

“See, Sign, Closed.” Aziraphale scowls. “Might as well invite the whole neighborhood in.” He huffs under his breath.

"Will someone tell me what the _devil_ is going on?" Crowley snaps. He's flustered and his clothes are askew. And his prick has not gotten the memo that _this_ has stopped.

"What's going on is that I am _over_ being harassed by message pigeons!"

"They are doves." Aziraphale shoots her a snooty look.

"Angel, doves are just fancy pigeons... Wait... " He narrows his eyes. "Is she the one you've been getting advice from?"

Aziraphale's face twitches.

"She is! What have you been saying?” Crowley pushes past him. “When have you even done this? Doves? haven't seen any doves! You've been keeping secrets!" He points at Aziraphale. They have a whole conversation with their faces that would have have made silent movie actors weep with envy.

"Well when you put it like that it sounds worse," Aziraphale raises his hands to placate him. "But I knew that you'd never let me ask about certain topics, and _really_, I was vague about things. Perhaps too vague, but we weren't getting anywhere so I thought we could use a bit of advice! And I wanted some help to shore up the protections on the shop without drawing too much attention by doing some serious miracles.”

He explains, his hands gesturing as he talks. “I wanted to make sure that they'd last for as long as it takes us to fix things.” Aziraphale turns back to Anathema. “And I settled on human magic. I just wasn't quite expecting a response so promptly. Or in person."

"Your message said that you wanted someone good as soon as possible, so," she waves a hand. "Here I am. If you wanted me to wait, then you wouldn't have left such a strange message. Of course I would come right away."

"I thought I would have more time to explain things to you, Crowley." Aziraphale says turning to him.

"So you _were_ planning on telling me?" Crowley crosses his arms with a frown.

"Of course!” Aziraphale wrings his hands and looks around.

"Why don't we move this into the back room? I'll make some tea and I'll explain everything.”

“Angel, no one wants tea.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I do.” Newt raises his hand.

Crowley scowls and Aziraphale shoots him a look as if to say _See!_

“Erm, Crowley if you'd show them where to go please. I'll be back in just a moment. Let me lock up for real and get everything together.

Crowley exhales through his nose. "Fine, let go have some tea. There had better be biscuits." Crowley storms off and through the shop. Anathema and Newt look at each other and follow after him.

Crowley huffs his way to the back room, the chairs that have helpfully multiplied. He flops into one of the plush chairs. He hates this kind of thing. Forced pleasantries and mindless small talk.

Anathema looks at Crowley while she sits. Crowley looks back at her. “Your aura is different.” She studies him. Is this why you've been asking all those weird questions?”

That's what she starts the conversation with? Crowley crosses his arms. “Not me. Aziraphale. I had nothing to do with this. Has he seriously been sending you messenger pigeons?”

“Bossy birds at all hours.” Newt sighs. “I don't particularly dislike pigeons, but these ones get all up in your face till one of us writes an answer. And these ones don't really seem to like me, they mostly bother Anathema. Shame, I'd never had a mobile.

“Oh for someone's sake,” he says to himself, and louder, “Angel, how's the tea coming?”

“Right here.” Aziraphale pops into the room. “And those lemon biscuits you like.”

Aziraphale pours them each a tea.

“Can you please explain what is happening now? Birds?!"

"Well I didn't want to be overheard on the telephone!" He exclaims.

Crowley unfolds his arms a bit. "That makes sense, I guess.” He picks at the arm of the chair. “So, what all have you been talking about? _Please_ tell me that you have kept our sex life to yourself at least.”

Newt swallows his tea funny and coughs.

"Dear, I _do_ live in Soho! I do know how to be discrete.” Aziraphale sips his tea primly. “I was asking about placing wards."

Anathema speaks up. "You know, when I look at my mom, she has a purple aura. Newton is green. Your aura was strange last time I saw you. Gold, with great big black wings. But right now, your aura ls just, plain yellow... Things make _so_ much more sense now.”

“Yeah, I'm bloody human now. No idea why either. I mean, we're on the shit list as far as Heaven and Hell go, not like we can ask them for answers, when one of them might have done this, and then we'd be confirming to them that I'm vulnerable.” He finally picks up a biscuit and bites into it.

Aziraphale turns to Anathema. “As you can probably feel, I've got some temporary wards around the shop. Crowley is as human as either of you right now, and while we're not quite sure why, but I want to make sure that he's safe from Heaven and Hell until we figure out how to restore him.”

"I can do some stuff today, but the things you need, some of them require more people. I have to track down a few things and people." She purses her lips. “And we have to account for you, You're still an angel.”

“I can help you work out some of the spells right now, if you're okay with that.”

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

“Crowley, perhaps you can entertain this young man while we work.” Aziraphale turns to him

“I'm getting left out of things now?" Crowley pouts. "Do you think I can't help?”

“We're going to be in the same room Dear. You can play one of your board games." Aziraphale says. "This kind of thing is tedious. It's more precise than say, baking. You'd hate it.”

Aziraphale is right. He would hate it. “Fine.” He sulks.

Aziraphale snaps, miracling a stack of board games onto the coffee table. He stands up and places a hand on Newt's shoulder. “Watch him closely, Mr. Pulsifer, he's an awful cheat.”

Crowley looks offended. “Am not!”

“If you say so.” Aziraphale placates him.

“I'll be fine, I've got brothers.” Newt assures him. “Oh, it that Ticket to Ride I see?”

“Have fun.” Aziraphale turns. “We'll set up over there. Holler if you need anything."

<~>

“Just friends, huh?” Anathema teases him quietly when they're across the room, papers spread out on the table as they work out calculations.

“Er, yes.”

“Uh huh. So is this a friends with benefits type of thing, or do you do things like that with everyone.”

“I'm not discussing this.” Aziraphale says resolutely.

“Fine. I was only joking." Anathema takes pity on him. "Now about the spells you were talking about, I don't suppose you have any books? I brought a few of my own, we can look through.

“No Agnes this time.” Aziraphale says as he looks through her books.

Anathema purses her lips. “We can figure it out ourselves.”

“That's the spirit. I do have some material here, and I marked the pages that seemed helpful.

<~>

Crowley does cheat, but he does enjoy this strange human. Newt. Anathema and Aziraphale spend ages reading and doing actual magic. It's not terribly interesting to Crowley so he just keep playing games, stopping to eat lunch and then dinner. Delivery for both. The angel doesn't even want to stop to cook. Eventually the humans in the room are all yawning and rubbing their eyes.

“Okay. That's it.” Crowley declares. “You and you,” he gestures to Anathema and Newt. “Upstairs to bed. I'll sleep on the sofa. There's no way you're driving anywhere tonight.”

Anathema and Newt both protest, but eventually give in. They are rather tired. Crowley has Aziraphale send his electronics to the Mayfair flat so they're fine from Newt however long this takes.

Crowley settles on the sofa in the sitting room. It's comfy and Aziraphale wills it slightly longer and deeper so that Crowley has more room to fit.

“I'll keep working downstairs. Come find me if you need anything.” Aziraphale starts to go down the stairs but pauses.

“What's up?” Crowley sits up, looking at him.

“I wasn't trying to leave you out of things.” Aziraphale turns to look at him, “I just thought you wouldn't like it, and I didn't want to leave Mr. Pulsifer by himself.”

“I wasn't that upset, really. You were right, Angel. It was boring and tedious and I would have hated doing it. I'm much happier not to worry about it too much. I think I'll try out card games on him tomorrow. The boy is _clever._ I think he'd make a great card shark.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Well, I suppose at the very least it'll be interesting to watch this happen.”

“You and Anathema take as long as you need with your boring magic work. Newt and I will entertain ourselves.” He lays back down. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Dear Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going ahead and posting this before I can do a better cleanup of this chapter, because my laptop screen is really buckling with the hinge, the whole front is coming off. If this chapter reads a little funky in one spot it's because I wrote a scene, thought it got deleted, rewrote it, kept writing and then found the scene had accidentally been moved, so I had to merge the two. I think everything should be good now. I'll edit it once we find a way to get my laptop to not be so precarious! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	13. Self Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns how to relax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this chapter earlier and were confused. I accidentally pasted the content twice in a row. It's fixed now :D

It takes a total of three days for Aziraphale and Anathema to work out all of the spells, and then another day to arrange or even more people to come that weekend- to power the spell or something, Crowley wasn't pay close attention when they explained things. He was playing Slap Jack with Newt, and while the younger man wasn't very good around electronics, he did have a keen eye. Crowley was also telling outrageous stories and outright lies from things in the past to see what he could get Newt to believe. Sometimes Aziraphale would even drop a comment to back Crowley up.

Anathema joins them playing cards when they are done. Crowley doesn't think she falling one bit for his bullshit, but it does distract her some. Still, Crowley doesn't win this hand.

<~>

The day after that an assorted group made up mostly of little old ladies come to the shop. Crowley isn't sure how a gaggle of biddies is supposed to keep him safe, but Aziraphale and Anathema assure him it is going to work. It all sounds like the sort of nonsense he's watched charlatans do over the ages. Usually there's a spot of fun, but there's none of that now. Crowley watches them go around the shop, sometimes briefly chanting or holding hands. Aziraphale draws carefully precise symbols, and finally declares that they're done. Anathema, Newt and the other witches head home, leaving the shop. It's dark outside, and finally they have some blessed quiet. Crowley starts to head upstairs, but Aziraphale stops him.

“What's up?” Crowley turns around at the door to the stairs.

“I've got something I think you'll enjoy.” Aziraphale says mysteriously. “You were so patient, and it was rather nice of you to be so friendly with Mr. Pulsifer.

“Newt, his name is Newt.” Crowley sneers. “No one talks like that.”

“I talk like that. It's polite” Aziraphale shoots him a huffy look. “Come this way. To the tub!”

Crowley follows him. “The tub?”

“Yes, rather a pleasant one, remember?”

Crowley doesn’t recall the details from that night, he tries not to. “Hm.”

“It hasn't gotten much use as of late but I just though, since you hate the shower so much, and you did like the bath the other week, perhaps you'd like another.” He shrugs. “We're doing another human thing. You said you wanted to be treated more like a person, and self care is something a healthy human needs.”

Crowley swallows. “Yeah, okay.”

He leads Crowley down the hall and to a bathroom. The tub, it's _something_ else. Crowley blinks pointedly. He didn't really take in this room the last time he was in here (too upset both times) and there is a _lot _to take in_._ “This is the most ridiculously extravagant tub I've ever seen. And that's saying something. Quite fond of your baths are you angel? I thought this was a human thing.”

Aziraphale turns the taps on and starts to fill up the tub.“I do partake in this. Bath bombs are quite nice.”

“Bombs? In the tub?” Crowley eyebrows draw together. “That sounds messy.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asks aghast. “Have you ever seen a bath bomb?”

“Why would I have had? I'm a demon.” Crowley gestures. “And you said it doesn't actually blow up.”

Its not like an actual bomb.” Aziraphale mimics an explosion with his hands. “It's just fizzy.” He looks up at him. “Well dear, you're a human the moment, not a demon. Humans can take bubble baths and do nice things for themselves. And they _really_ are pleasant.”

Aziraphale turns back to the tub and pours gobs of something into the water; it foams up and the room fills with a lavender scent. He picks up a big round sphere and lets it dissolve in the tub. It turns the water teal under the bubbles.

“Now, you don't really need _both_ oils and bubbles, but it is _so_ nice.”

Crowley watches the 'bomb” spin around in the bubbly water. “I bet you're the sort to take long soaks in the tub, with a nice cold glass of wine and a book.”

Aziraphale looks scandalized. “You keep my books away from the water!”

“Hmm,” Crowley taps his chin. “I bet you like to have incense. Chocolates too.”

“Human stuff is a treat to enjoy in one in a while.” Aziraphale defends.

Crowley smirks. “Something tells me this is more than a once in a while occurrence.” His smile grows. Banter is easy, it's familiar. “Mmm, angel, are you being naughty again?”

“Naughty?” Aziraphale runs his hands in the water to test the heat as it fills. “I think the pot is calling the kettle black there.”

Crowley flames up. “NGK.”

“There's soaps and shampoo here.” He gestures to the built in shelf next to the tub. ”They don't really use oil much but I still like to. I made these bath bombs myself. They're splendid” Aziraphale turns the tap off, and looks at Crowley. “The oils do make it slippery though, and humans are so fragile. so I'd better help you.”

“I don't need a minder, thank you.”

“Yes you do, silly. I'm here to teach you self care.”

“I suppose.” Crowley sighs, “Are you sure I can't go yell at something and that be good enough?”

“That's not the way this works. I've seen how you treat your plants and that is not self care.” Aziraphale looks at him pointedly. "Now dear, take of your clothes and get in the water.”

He glances down. “Right.” He tosses his clothes to the floor and lets Aziraphale help him settle down. He leans back against the bath pillow. Aziraphale is right, it is slippery, but it's also nice. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the feel.

“Let me turn on the jets.” Aziraphale cranks a dial and Crowley almost melts. It's so good. He sinks lower in the water.

“Why didn't you tell me how nice this was? So warm.” He closes his eyes.

“I'll be right back." Aziraphale goes to step out of the room for a moment.

“Wait, don't go!” Crowley scrambles up, feeling vulnerable.

“I'm only stepping out for a second.” He promises. Aziraphale returns to see Crowley holding up two handfuls of bubbles close to his face, studying them.

Crowley blushes and quickly drops his hands to rinse them off.

Aziraphale holds up a big wine glass of ice water. “This is for you.” He says.“It's important to stay hydrated, or the heat will get to you.” He sets a wooden bath tray across the tub and sets the water there.

“No candles?” Crowley teases. _Fuck why did he say that. _He doesn't want candles_. _His mouth always jumps to mindless teasing when he's flustered.

Aziraphale's eyes sparkle. “I have a better idea.” Aziraphale snaps and the lights turn off, and strands of fairy light illuminate the room. “No smoke or fire.”

“Oh.” Crowley blushes and looks down into his glass. Aziraphale walks over to one of the walls and the sound of soft classical music fills the air.

“Lets start with the basics.” Aziraphale hands him an elastic cloth headband.

“What's this for?”

“To get your hair out of the way. You are either going to need a hair cut soon or you're going to have to start styling it. You're starting to look like one of those music people on those trashy tabloids he reads.”

“Oh yuck, don't tell me I look like I'm in a boy-band.” Crowley pouts and puts it on, pushing his hair back. “Rude.”

“I didn't say it looked bad. Just getting shaggy..” Aziraphale adjusts the band. “Remember your hair in the 1960s? You looked nice then.”

Aziraphale pours some grey goop on his fingertips.

“This is a little cold.” He warns. “Goes on your face.”

“A little!” Crowley frowns, trying to pull away from the angel. “Your fingers are ice, what the hell?!”

“Stop that. You're being dramatic.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “It's just a clay mask, it's not _that_ cold.” Aziraphale keeps spreading it across his face.

“Now what?” Crowley asks when he's done.

Aziraphale rinses his hands off in the sink. “Now you let that sit. Close your eyes and relax.”

“You're not going to leave right?” Crowley feels clingy. _Why is his anxiety being such a brat now?_

“I'll stay right here.” Aziraphale assures him

Crowley bites his lip. “You'll get bored.”

Aziraphale shrugs. “Perhaps I'll read a book.” He snaps his fingers. “Would you mind? I find reading aloud so soothing.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Crowley shifts against the bath pillow in the grand tub with all of it's jets and bubbles. The jets keep making even more bubbles, he thinks that surely they will fill the room. Aziraphale must be using a miracle, because none of the foam or jets splash out on the floor. The angel's voice is soothing. Crowley's not even paying attention to the words. Just that slow and steady tone.

This is exactly what he needs right now. The last couple of days were so taxing, and he wasn't even the one doing the hard work. Aziraphale should be the one soaking in the tub and taking it easy. It's the nicest thing someone has ever done for him, that's for sure. Even the steady crackle of popping bubbles is soothing and the lavender and heat makes him feel heady. It's _nice. _He closes his eyes and thinks about what he can do to make Aziraphale feel this good.

<~>

Aziraphale closes his book some time later and walks over to the tub. “Careful dear boy, don't fall asleep!” He chuckles. Crowley is surprised to find that he's started to drift off and blinks a few times. Aziraphale snaps and the glass of ice water refills. “Humans _do _need lots of water.” He passes the water off to Crowley with a pointed look. “Drink up.”

Crowley sticks his tongue out at Aziraphale for bossing him around, but does pick up the glass. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Oh Satan, is water always been this good?” Crowley takes another drink.

“It's cucumber infused, and your human taste buds are no doubt different than what you're used to.”

Crowley looks at it again and shrugs. He's curious though, does everything taste different now?

Aziraphale t'sks. “Finish that.” Aziraphale dips his hand into the water and feels that it's gone tepid. He makes the water heat back up.

Crowley lets out a low rumble and sinks down in the water. “I'm never leaving this tub angel.”

“Sit up at least, let me get to your hair. He grabs one of the bottles and pours a small dollop into his hand.

“Cold.” Crowley says as he works the shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Is this okay?”

“Oh, Angel, you worry too much, you're fine.” He closes his eyes. “Mmrrr.”

He is rather boneless by the time Aziraphale stops.

“Tilt your head back, keep your eyes closed. Shampoo burns.”

Crowley does; lets him rinse his hair clean like he's helpless, and then Aziraphale switches to conditioner. He doesn't see the point of it, but it gets Aziraphale's fingers back in his hair. He doesn't rinse it out, just keeps stroking.

If Crowley was a cat, he'd be purring right now, Aziraphale thinks. That makes the angel laugh. Especially because he knows how much Crowley hates when people tell him “he has cool cat contacts” on days like Halloween where he doesn't bother with his shades.

“Wha?”

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale picks up his sea sponge and pouring gel onto it, working up a good lather. “It's shower gel. Soap.” Aziraphale says.

“Stuffs still in my hair.” He says in response.

“It has to sit. You have curly hair, haven't you ever bothered with conditioner?”

“Never saw the point. Soap really, either, you get the runoff from the shampoo, takes longer to do.” Hah, he is glad that his limited knowledge is able to be played off like that.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale bites the words out. “Stop. Talking.”

Crowley leans back in the tub to look at him, tilting his head. His angel looks exasperated, but not actually upset. “You do everything the human way don't you? I bet you, oh, what's the word? Moisturize. I bet you moisturize, don't you?”

“You don't? - Of course you don't." Aziraphale sighs. "Dear boy, your body is a temple. You've _got_ to treat it right.”

Crowley blinks, wide eyed. “Why? What's the point? It wasn't like it mattered before.”

Aziraphale's arms drop to rest on the side of the tub. “Anthony, it matters.”

Crowley meets his gaze upside down, “If you say so.”

“I do say so. You're getting pampered today. Now lean forward so I can get your back.”

Crowley dutifully does. “I think you're on to something.”

“Oh?”

“Bubble baths _are_ nice.” There aren't many bubbles left anymore, but it's still nice.

“And here I was thinking that you'd seen reason and were going to adopt soap into your daily lifestyle.”

“Only for you, Angel.”

Aziraphale the sponge at him. “Lets see how well you do on your own this time.”

“Gonna check behind my ears and everything?” Crowley washes himself down, paying far less attention than Aziraphale had. He muses, “Do you think they can see us? Whoever did this? I hope they can. I really hope they can us and I hope they're pissed. Probably thought they'd stick it to me, and here I am in your tub with,” Crowley swirled his finger around his head. “This thing on my face and taking a bubble bath. Getting all soapy and living my best life.” He chuckles

“Best life? How could this possibly be your best life, you have no powers.”

Crowley waves off the concern. “It's just an expression. It means I'm fantastic. Having a right smashing time and enjoying things.”

“Ah. I see.” Aziraphale holds out his hand. “Let me have your leg.”

“My leg?”

“Yes.”

Crowley holds one of his legs out of the water. “I already washed it.”

“I'm not going to wash your leg. I'm going to do you feet.”

“Feet?” Crowley asks dubiously.

Aziraphale picks up another bottle and a scrub brush. He rubs the scrub into one foot. It's kind of abrasive, And then Aziraphale starts in with the brush. “Too hard?”

“Nah. Tickles a little.”

“Be glad your feet aren't more ticklish. Some humans have VERY ticklish feet.” He lets it drop back into the water. “Next.”

He repeats on the other foot before he finally rinses the brush under water and moves back to the other end of the tub.

“Now, tilt your head back, close your eyes. Like the shampoo.” Aziraphale takes longer to rinse his hair out, suddenly aware that this is almost over, and that he is rather enjoying the experience.

Finally he pulls his hands back. Gotta wash the mask off. Last step.” He slowly and gently washes away the dried clay with a rag. “There, all done” He twists the plug to start letting the water drain. “Stay there, I have to get you a towel.”

Crowley watches him go. The large tub drains surprisingly fast. Aziraphale must have used another miracle.

He comes back with a large and pleasantly warm towel and wraps it around Crowley's shivering frame.

“'s so warm!” Crowley notes happily. “and BIG.”

“Are you going to get up?”

Crowley pulls the towel closer. “No.” He shakes his head. “Not moving.”

“There are more comfortable places than in my tub, dear boy. The bed for one, A chair in the sitting room, though you should get dressed first. I'll fix you up some tea.”

“Tempting.” Crowley makes no sign of moving, and Aziraphale looks down at him. “This is for your own good. You'd probably get hypothermia and die if left to your own devices and I refuse to argue with you like a toddler.”

“Wot are you-” Crowley's eyes pop open when he feels Aziraphale put one hand on his back, and another behind his thigh, and then he's being lifted by a being that shouldn't have been able to lift him from that awkward angle nearly as easy as it does. Crowley scrambles, his arms flying around Aziraphale's neck, afraid of being dropped.

Aziraphale caries him upstairs and down the hallway and into the bedroom, setting him down on the bed. Crowley burrows under the blankets.

“I brought you in here to get dressed.” Aziraphale says exasperatedly.

“What's the point?” Crowley says. “I saw the time. It's almost 22:00 and then I'd have to get ready for bed.” He blinks lazily up at Aziraphale. He thinks Aziraphale is rather cute when he's snarky. Crowley's eyes crinkle at the edges as he grins.

“You're adorable.” He blurts out in the middle of Aziraphale lecturing him about drying off. _Fuck, he wasn't supposed to talk like that._

Aziraphale pauses. “Are you trying to sweet talk me?”

“What would I sweet talk you into?” He tries to play it off like teasing. “I'm just human now. You're the one who got me all sopping wet and then brought me into this arse cold bedroom.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I'm not staying. I've got to do inventory tonight.”

“You think I'm looking for some Fraternizing? I'm _Cold.”_ Crowley pouts up at him and pouts a little. “Pleeease? It's so cooold. And you never sell anything, what sort of inventory do you have to do?”

Aziraphale snaps his fingers to change into a long flannel sleep shirt. “Scoot over.”

Crowley grins as he slides into bed and clambers over to on the angel, adjusting himself so he's comfortable.

They've never done this, before. It's new and a bit exciting. He closes his eyes and feels the heat radiating off Aziraphale

Aziraphale's hands wander. Massaging his neck, his back. Crowley mewls appreciatively as fingers idly rub his butt. “Do I owe you for the fancy bath?”

Aziraphale stops. “Of course not!” He sounds horrified as he pulls his hands back.

“Kidding, angel. Bad joke. Just saying if your hands are free...”

“Of course.” He can hear Aziraphale rolling his eyes. “Get me down here for a cuddle, and you want more.” Aziraphale flips him over, back to chest.

Crowley blinks up at the ceiling. Fuck, Aziraphale moving him so effortlessly shouldn't be that hot.

Aziraphale wraps a _slick_ hand around him. Crowley rocks up against that wetness, seeking his release. Aziraphale bites and sucks on his neck while his free hand skirts around Crowley's nipples, tweaking them, and occasionally fondles his bollocks.

Crowley’s endurance has been building, thankfully. It's still over laughably short.

Aziraphale cleans up the mess like usual while Crowley drifts off in a post orgasmic haze. He does have one thought that stirs in his mind. That position, Aziraphale behind him. He thinks he likes that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo boy, enjoy one of the first scenes I plotted for this fic!


	14. Icarus is flying to close to the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's mostly sfw chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title chapter from a Bastille song I loved before I lost my hearing! A much requested chapter, part one!

Aziraphale's life changes with one phone call. The former-demon know as Crowley is now entirely human for reasons unknown and is taking a nap upstairs in the angel's bedroom. It had all happened almost fast enough to give him whiplash, as if such things would affect his corporation.

Still, it is concerning to him that someone has taken actions against his friend, and not only did they attempt, they succeed. In all his years, he's never heard of something like this. Forcefully binding someone's powers away for a short time is one thing, but to entirely change a demon into a human? What kind of miracles are they dealing with?

Aziraphale reaches for the telephone in the shop and begins to inquire at many different places about tomes of magic, spells, curses, and demonic rituals. Most of the books will be rubbish, but sometimes the humans actually get something right. Other times certain people MAKE the spells work through sheer force of will; bending the cosmos to their whims for a little while. Crowley has always been one of those beings – imagination, will power, and demonic energy flowing through his veins and making things _happen._

Aziraphale goes to the back room, where he keeps certain books away from prying eyes, pulls out an old book, and begins to comb through his collection, looking to see if he can find anything that remotely sounds like what is happening. He takes notes, in one of his little notepads with his feathered quill. He's never quite liked the feel of ballpoint pens. Besides, the quill is made from one of Crowley's old feathers. He's had this for 3,000 years, kept in pristine condition. It feels wrong to use anything else to write with.

<~>

It takes him hours, and he's not paying much attention till he hears Crowley shout. Aziraphale rushes upstairs with fears of Heaven and Hell tearing through the walls to get at his poor defenseless friend and instead is greeted with the slam of a door.

Aziraphale knocks on the door. “Crowley are you alright?”

Crowley is indeed safe and all is well. He wants a shower though, so Aziraphale gathers the things he will need and goes back to the bathroom. The way he's standing makes the angel think that perhaps he's too shy to admit that he doesn't know how it works. Aziraphale makes an excuse to turn the shower on, taking care to make sure Crowley can see him. Soon enough Crowley is in the shower and Aziraphale is bringing him a towel.

The angel collects his clothes to wash. Crowley has made a bit of a mess of his pants, he recognizes. He'd thought Crowley's embarrassment had been because he didn't know how to work the shower. He'd been a demon before this, surely he wasn't _that_ self conscious about bodily fluids and wet dreams. Maybe he is trying to shock Aziraphale. It is probably better to pretend he didn't notice or make a big deal out of this. It _isn't_ a big deal. It's human.

<~>

Shopping, both for clothes and at the supermarket is different and rather exhilarating. Humans come up with such _interesting_ things, and it is so exciting to experience it all. It's a feast for the senses. Crowley doesn't seem near as excited as he does. Aziraphale picks up things, studying them, touching them. He gets far more then they really need, just to satisfy his curiosity.

He also learns more about human limits. The whole bit where Crowley almost faints in the dressing room stands out in his mind, and at that moment he decides that he's going to make sure Crowley takes better care of himself. No more skipped meals, for sure.

<~>

Crowley's misadventure with cooking terrifies him. Not the shop burning down - his books are precious to him, but Crowley is more important than any book. It's the idea that he's been carrying this burden on his own for so long makes him weep when Crowley is asleep. How could he have missed this? How could he have let his dearest friend suffer so long before he found out? He's an angel! Crowley has _been_ in hell this entire time; alone and in agony from his own mind.

Never again will he let Crowley endure this alone. Over the years he's become well versed in Crowley's mannerisms. He knows how to read each micro-expression on his face, and it's even easier to read him now that he's not stuck behind a pair of dark glasses. His emotions are even more expressive, and Aziraphale is happy to see the glasses put away, he misses Crowley's golden eyes.

<~~>

'The Laundry Incident', as Aziraphale thinks of it is what really set things off. Him finding his favorite towels covered in crunchy, messy evidence. Masturbating is entirely normal for humans. He looks back at his towels with a frown. Crowley is taking it to the extreme apparently. All those extra hormones have to be a surprise to his systems. Still, he should know better than to use the good towels. This is something Aziraphale's going to have to make clear.

_Oh,_ and when he does bring it up, Crowley is so _bashful_ about it. He mentally changes his opinions that over the years Crowley has been getting into some rather demonic-like activities and starts to think that Crowley is rather inexperienced. Everything Crowley says screams “Virgin”.

It's sort of cute. Crowley gets so flustered about all of this, even though he has no reason to be. Aziraphale, recognizes the inexperience and offers to help fill in the gaps in his knowledge. Crowley confirms his growing suspicions. While Aziraphale has enjoyed this bit of humanity, Crowley has not partaken in it.

<~>

Aziraphale goes out to the shops, buying some things that should help Crowley. Some more food, as well as some alarms and tissues. He tries to think of things he may have forgotten. He wants the redhead to know that this sort of thing is natural and he shouldn't be embarrassed by it. Indulging in human nature while you're human is to be expected. He just needs to do better at it. 

He comes home finding Crowley in the middle of another anxiety attack, and his heart hurts again for his dear friend. Seeing him like this is _hard_. He wants to fix it but he can't. All he can do is support him. He's there for Crowley, listening to him, reassuring him that everything is okay, soothing him and bringing him tea. He tries to show how much he cares, how much Crowley means to him. He talks about all the small things Crowley does mean a lot to him, and he appreciates them. They can _fix_ this.

Crowley flushes so adorably when Aziraphale gifts him the chocolates and the gaming thing. It makes him so very happy to know that Crowley is getting treated to the love he has always deserved. He even introduces Aziraphale to a new passion, Baking. Aziraphale learns to cook with a bit of miraculous power, but baking, he does the harder way, He likes to learn it. It's fiddly and precise. All the things he enjoys so much. Oh, and then he gets a sweet treat to eat at the end. It's fantastic.

<~>

These 'spells' as Crowley calls them are painful. They tear at his soul. He doesn't blame Crowley. It's not his fault. OH, but the angel is so out of his depth. He wants to fix it but he has no idea how, so he looks for advice from one of the only humans he knows.

Anathema Device answers the telephone. She points him in the right direction, although 'Boyfriend' and 'snake husband' rattle around in his brain. He tries to push off those thoughts and focus on helping Crowley. He uses his computer, something he's not overtly fond of, though it does distract him for a while. By the time it's starting to get light out, he thinks he's printed out and searched enough to earn a break he quietly makes his way upstairs to grab one of the books he'd been reading.

But then he walks in on Crowley.

Naked Crowley.

Touching himself like humans do. Writhing and whining. His thoughts keep circling back to what Anathema said.

He can't be here! He can't think like that! He retreats silently, shamefully.

Not because what Crowley is doing, because the sight excites him.

He wants to see more. Oh. He is a terrible angel. Has been one since he was first created. He _wants_ Crowley. It pains him how much he wants. Heaven has told him again and again that demons can't feel it; that love was burned out of them in The Fall. And now here is Crowley, in his shop, human and experiencing such emotions again for the first time in thousands of years. And it is so much. He is tempted.

No.

Aziraphale rids himself of his _effort_ and tries to figure out how he's going to face Crowley.

<~>

Aziraphale gives him a couple more hours before he knocks on the door and awkwardly gives Crowley the print outs. He doesn't even make it through breakfast before falling on his sword and apologizing. He shouldn't have done that. He's a guest in Aziraphale's home. He shouldn't have to deal with Aziraphale overstepping.

Aziraphale is tempted. He is Icarus and Crowley is the sun. He goes down to the bookshop, so Crowley doesn't have to be near him. Or maybe because he doesn't trust himself not to muck this up worse.

Crowley though, his darling Crowley is the brave one again. Forgiving Aziraphale. Asking to return to their 'new normal'

And they do. Days pass by. He works his way through all the shops in London and then branches out, has people put out feelers. Like he expects, most of what he finds is rubbish. Nothing that gives him a hint of something that will set Crowley right.

And then Crowley tells Aziraphale that he's tired of spending the day alone upstairs, so the angel better get used to having company, because he's coming downstairs regardless of what Aziraphale says. Aziraphale buckles down, uses some of the spells that are in his new books to place protective wards around the shop. Something that should keep both Angelic and Demonic forces out. Other than _himself._ It takes a bit of work to fit the spells around himself, but he does it, and then he shows his work to Crowley.

<~>

They sit there in the back room. Aziraphale tells Crowley that these wards will protect him for a while, hopefully long enough for them to figure this out. He makes a mental note to let Crowley start going through the giant stack of “occult” books he's acquired. He's already looked through them, but perhaps Crowley will find something he missed.

<~>

Aziraphale finds that he likes having Crowley in the shop. They comb through books together, or just talk. Aziraphale makes sure he eats breakfast and lunch, and then later in the evening after work, he makes dinner. It's a nice schedule they've fallen into.

And Crowley turns it on it's head one day when he goes and gets the post and stumbles upon a magazine that his neighbor mails out. A catalogue. It's a run of the mill mailer for them, and honestly, he doesn't expect it to be a big deal, but Crowley makes it into one. And then Crowley goes from being embarrassed to being interested.

_Oh._ Crowley may not be a demon, but he's _tempting_ him. Crowley is the one he wants, and once they fix this, he'll go back to being a demon. One who won't love Aziraphale back. He can handle that. Aziraphale's handled it for the last six thousand years. But for now, he is being offered a taste of it. To dip his toes in the water. Crowley wants Aziraphale to teach him things. It's the closest to being loved that Aziraphale will probably ever feel...

<~>

Aziraphale isn't expecting to walk in on something, not in the middle of the day, so when he comes up stairs and finds Crowley with his hands down his pants and making such noises. _Oh~ _It takes his breath away.

Crowley looks just as startled as he feels, which is ironic considering Crowley is the one masturbating in the sitting room of an open floor-plan flat.

But Aziraphale makes an offering; something that spills out of his mouth. And Crowley accepts. He just _looks _like a dream. It's one that won't last, so Aziraphale better do something while he still can. Once they fix this, Crowley will distance himself again, and he doesn't know if his heart can handle that. This Crowley, he _trusts_ him, he is _free_ and oh so _human._

Which is how Aziraphale finds himself giving his friend one of his very best blow jobs, although it might be wasted, since Crowley is too far gone to care about technique. It doesn't last long either, but he still feels accomplished, and then Crowley is kissing him.

Hmf, it's the _worst_ sort of torment, pushing him away. He doesn't _want_ to. He wants to back Crowley against the sofa and snog him like his life depends on it. But he knows that it will only make it _harder_ when Crowley goes back to being a demon. He can't project his feelings on to Crowley's post-orgasmic bliss. Instead he pulls away and makes excuses. It might be the hardest thing he's _ever_ done to leave the room.

<~>

But Crowley doesn't make it easy for him. He walks in the open bedroom door one day to see Crowley half undressed in one of Aziraphale's own jumpers, lazily touching himself, and he feels his resolve crumble. He finally gives Crowley what he's been after. Hearing Crowley breathy begs of 'please.' is just too much for him. He touches.

He devours and then he takes the massage oil and works it into Crowley's freckled skin. He watches Crowley's reactions- and he's _weak._ He's _so_ weak. He's wanted this for so long and now it's in his grasp, for however long.

Crowley comes to him, asking him to help teach him these things. He touches Crowley, telling himself not to grow too attached; He's playing a game he cannot win. He tries to memorize the feel of Crowley's skin under his fingertips, catalogue each breathy moan and cry. He selfishly laps up these moments, imagining that Crowley wants this for real, that he wanted to touch and be loved, not just because he is human and dealing with all the human stuff that comes with it.

Nonetheless, he puts his knowledge to good use. He _ shows _ things to Crowley, lets him experience it. The angel can feel the growing love coming off of Crowley and he's completely drunk with it. Aziraphale is selfish and wretched. He's ached with desire. He's flying and the sun is melting the wax on his wings, but he flies higher. Aching. Yearning. Longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this!


	15. Crowley gets into mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something light. more of Aziraphale's side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No NSFW in this chapter.

Aziraphale comes to the realization that he _might_ be in over his head. He tries to tell himself that he can keep this casual; keep his emotions separate from _this_ and just teach Crowley things because he's human and needs the guidance. Oh, it's _hard_ though, being able to feel Crowley's broadcasted emotions. Aziraphale feels the _'good'_ things coming off of Crowley and it's _so_ _hard_ to keep ignoring them.

Humans thrive off physical contact, and Hell has always been full of overcrowded shuffling; so opposite of Heaven. It's no surprise that Crowley's sense of boundaries are different. He likes to drape parts of himself around Aziraphale; snuggling any time they are close. Crowley is always touching and wanting to be touched. Yes, Aziraphale does sexual things for Crowley when it's wanted, but other times Crowley just wants to be held. He always lets Crowley be the one to start things, never pushing for it. The two spend a great deal of time sitting around the bookstore or the flat simply talking or playing games while being close. It's rather _pleasant._

The angel finds himself sliding into this bit by bit until he's too deep. The lines keep blurring, and he's surely crossed too far now. He's falling absolute in love with this version of Crowley and he can't stop himself. What's worse is he can feel Crowley's love as well. It's like a drug and he's hooked. He'll do anything to keep getting it. He'll give Crowley anything he wants. He lets his efforts to find a fix fall slowly to the wayside. It's not like he stops or puts it on pause, it's just no longer a priority.

There's a very human Crowley in his flat, tempting him, all but begging him to show him things. And Aziraphale does. He's spent six thousand years on this Earth. He knows a_ lot _about what the humans are getting into these days. He takes pride in his vast knowledge; he knows what feels _good._ And he gets a thrill from knowing that _he _is the one who is showing this to Crowley.

Crowley, for his part, is trying his best to learn from him. It makes Aziraphale worry that one day Crowley won't need him anymore, will tell him to stop. For now though, he really likes the taste of his dear boy on his tongue. They're both getting comfortable with this. Crowley responds so _well_ to his touches. Aziraphale tries to memorize the sound of his gasps of pleasure. One day this will be over.

<~>

Crowley texts Anathema regularly now, and tells Aziraphale about the conversations over dinner. Sometimes it's about occult stuff, sometimes it's more of just talking about his day. Crowley is really good at finding something that irritates people and taking it to the next level. He says Anathema is particularly amusing to do this to because she has _opinions_ and never backs down. Crowley agrees with her about a lot, but he'll spend hours winding her up about hoaxes and stuff. He really has always loved doing things like that.

<~>

Crowley's plants have migrated slowly to the bookshop flat, and they've really livened up the place. Even the big ones. One at a time, they just kind of appear. Aziraphale must be bringing them here. Crowley doesn't complain. They don't listen to his yelling, (a method Aziraphale was has never liked, but he's surpised to learn that was how motivation worked in Hell.) Now Crowley takes care of them the regular way, no yelling allowed (one of Aziraphale's new rules). They are feeling more relaxed each day. Aziraphale gives them praise, regardless of if they are in a sorry state or are lovely and green.

<~>

Crowley sends the angel out to gardening stores to pick up things he's never even heard of (blood meal? Surely the former demon is pulling a prank, but the workers in the shop give him a bag of it) and Aziraphale enjoys seeing how happy Crowley is whenever there is new growth or blooms on his plants. He doesn't say anything about the ghost of a garden of Eden that Crowley had recreated in the Mayfair flat. He just tries to show the plants they are worthy of love and hopes that the message also gets through to Crowley, no yelling necessary.

Aziraphale think Crowley looks awfully charming here in the sitting room wearing gardening gloves with dirt brushed across his cheek after re-potting one of the plants. It had taken him a while (and a couple plants) to get the hang of doing things the human way. But it is one less thing Aziraphale has to worry about; Crowley is less bored now that he has so many plants to look after.

This is a life Aziraphale enjoys very much. Spending all this time with Crowley, being able to talk and to touch. It's a dream that can't last. He wishes it would. He'd like to keep Crowley's love but he knows that demons don't love. Crowley has said that over and over again, scoffing at the notion that there could ever be such a soft thing inside of him.

<~>

Now, though.

They are up in the flat tonight, no chance of anyone disturbing them. Crowley’s hair is getting shaggy, it's too long to gel up, but to short to do much of anything with. Crowley turns down Aziraphale's offer to cut his hair. Crowley doesn't take the effort to style it, so he says he may as well grow it out. He does complain that it gets in his way. It also stands up in ways that defy gravity after he sleeps and can only be tamed with a shower.

Crowley has been itching his at face all day and grimacing. “It feels like there's bug under my skin.”

Aziraphale walks across the room to examine him. “I don't feel anything odd. You feel perfectly normal to me.”

“Normal.” Crowley rolls his eye.

“You know what I mean.” He sits down next to Crowley. “Let me know if it gets worse or spreads. I'll keep an eye on it, but I don't know how I can help if I can't sense the problem.”

“Ugh.” Crowley slumps onto Aziraphale's shoulder. “Angel, you would not believe the day I had. I was on twitter, you know, doing what I do, and a 13 year old stared calling me a boomer. What the _heaven_ is a boomer? I feel out of the loop and I don't like it.”

“I know dear.” Aziraphale pats his hand. Crowley has always liked to be _cool_

“Gahhhh." He moans. "Am I allowed to have wine yet? Pleaseee?” Crowley gives him a pitiful look.

“Fine, since you've had such a day. But just one glass. And drink it slowly. We don't want to hurt your human body.”

Aziraphale extracts himself and comes back with two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“My hero!” Crowley takes the glass happily and takes a small sip. Aziraphale watches him. Crowley lets it swirl on his tongue. His eyebrows twitch.

“Bad?”

Crowley shakes his head, “Just different. For one the alcohol taste is a lot stronger. It's … not unpleasant. Just _different._

He pats the sofa next to him. “'Why don't you sit down and tell me about your day?”

“Don't mind if I do.” Aziraphale sits down and Crowley worms his way to Aziraphale's side. “Well dear, I had three customers! Three. I suppose we both had a dreadful day then. This wine is well earned. Salute then.” Aziraphale taps his glass.

“Yeah. Salute.” He brings the cup up to his lips.

<~>

“Aziraphale.” Crowley calls. He doesn't sound distressed, more agitated than anything.

Aziraphale rushes to him. Crowley has his face about two inches from the mirror. He pulls back. “I'm freaking fuzzy.”

Aziraphale examines the light ginger growth on his chin. “Hm. That's new. Perhaps the longer you stay like this, the more human you become?” He stares, brows furrowed. “Are there different levels to human-ness? How does this even work?”

Crowley pushes off of the sink. “I don't know, but I do NOT want to have to deal with this every day.” He looks at the mirror again. “I don't even know _how_ to shave.”

“But you've had a mustache!” Aziraphale argues “And a goatee.”

“My face just did what it was told.” Crowley shrugs.

“Of course it did.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. He's never had to deal with this before either. He bites his lip. “Okay. You remember the cooking videos?” Aziraphale says, “Someone has to have done something like that about shaving. To the computer!” He bounces on his heels, happy to have come up with the idea. He thinks it's rather clever how the humans have amassed such a vast collection of information that is _just there _if one goes looking.

“Angel, I've got a phone remember?” Crowley holds his hand out to stop him.

“Oh, right.”

“_See_,” Crowley holds his phone up. “Handy.”

Aziraphale crosses his arms. “I am still NOT getting one.” He huffs, “But do be a dear and look up shaving videos for me please? Cheers.”

<~>

Aziraphale watches a couple different videos with Crowley. “It looks simple enough to do.” He declares. “I'm going to pop off to the store to get stuff and be back in a jiffy.”

“Can't you just make things?” Crowley snaps his fingers.

“Dear, we've talked about this.” Aziraphale says patiently. “I've done enough miracles this month, _someone_ will be looking. The human way will do just fine.” He holds his hands up. “I'll be back in a blink of an eye. You'll hardly even notice I'm gone.”

Crowley scrunches up his face. “Fine.” He sighs. “I guess I'll have breakfast or whatever.”

Aziraphale makes a face. “Actually, maybe I'll make breakfast first. Then I'll go to the shop.”

“Nonsense. I'll have like a bagel. Or some of those toaster things you got. Go off to the store. I'll be fine.”

<~>

It is not fine. Crowley doesn't know why Aziraphale listened to him.

The Toaster is _not_ his friend. It clearly has the Bentley's personality. It doesn't care that this setting worked just fine when Aziraphale used it. It burns his stuff. Crowley breakfast consists scorched pop-tarts and cranberry juice. Breakfast of the champions really. He even adds a banana, so Aziraphale can't complain that it's not a balanced meal – Whatever that means. He scratches idly at his chin. Little bristles, it feels funny.

He takes his phone out and snaps a selfie, himself holding up a burnt pop tart with his eyebrow raised and sends it to Anathema _ « God left me out too long and now I'm growing fuzz. Also the toaster hates me. -ajc» _

Which promptly gets a _ « ??? » _

_« New stuff. I think I leveled up my humanity? Facial hair is itchy. - ajc »_

_« that's...odd »_

_ « You are telling me. My entire existence is the definition of odd. - ajc» _ Crowley heard Aziraphale coming up the stairs. _ « Zira's back, talk to you later. I'm about to learn how to shave - ajc» _

_« ??? aren't you like older than dirt?! how have you never shaved??? »_

_« Occult Being. - ajc » _

Anathema texts him back with the eye roll emoji. He chuckles and puts his phone away in his pocket as Aziraphale comes in. “Ah, he returns! Welcome back, any trouble angel?” He asks sarcastically.

“Not at all. There were all sorts of things, I wasn't sure what scent you preferred, so I just grabbed a couple cans. And there a few razors to try.” He holds the bag up.

Crowley peeks into the bag. “Right then. Let's hop to it.”

“Someone's an eager beaver!”

“It _itches_ angel, come on.”

“Right then,” Aziraphale clutches the bag. “I think we've got the general idea.”

<~>

Crowley examines the razors that are lined up on the counter. “Which is better do you think? Three blades? Four? Five?”

“Well I would think more blades is better, but I imagine it would probably slice your skin better too.”

“We'll start out with three then, see how that does.” He holds the package out for Aziraphale to open and turns to the shaving cream. He picks up a can at random how hard can this be? Once he figures out how to work it he pours a gob of it into his hand.

Crowley smears the foam on his face. “Holy fuck-balls.” He squirts more out and leans over to Aziraphale

“What are you doing?!” Aziraphale pulls back.

“Stay still.” Crowley moves after him. “Stuffs fun! I'm all gooey!”

“No. Absolutely not!” Aziraphale avoids his hands. “This is my favorite shirt!”

He manages to swipe a few fingers of the stuff on the angel's face and Aziraphale looks positively offended. Crowley laughs when Aziraphale bolts from the room. “Don't be like that!” He whoops, chasing after Aziraphale while holding out a handful of foam.

“Crowley!”

“I'm gonna _get_ you!” He cackles and chases Aziraphale around the flat.

“You look like a rabid dog!”

Crowley just laughs harder. “Come on, Angel. _Live_ a little.”

“I'm living just fine, thank you,” He sounds out of breath. “No messy creams needed.”

“But it's so much fun!” Crowley vaults over the coffee table and tackles the angel onto the couch, smearing the foam all over Aziraphale's face.

“CROWLEY!” Aziraphale tries to pull away.

Crowley snorts, wiping his face all over Aziraphale's belly instead.

“My shirt,** really**?!” Aziraphale scoops some of the foam off of his face and smooshes it on the back of Crowley’s neck.

“Ap!” Crowley brings the can up and sprays foam at him.

“How old are you?” Aziraphale yells holding his hands up to block the stream. “The sofa! Crowley?” He is able to grab the can and twist it out of Crowley's grasp. He wrestles with Crowley a bit and finally pins him down by sitting on him. “Just remember, you started this.” And he sprays the shaving cream all over Crowley's chest.

“Angel!” Crowley tries to squirm away but Aziraphale holds him in place. Crowley scoops some of the cream off of his face and tries to throw it at up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale squirts more of the cream on Crowley's forehead and ends up working it in his hair to make a foamy Mohawk.

<~>

In the end, Crowley never does get his shave. Once Aziraphale empties the can he finally let's Crowley admit a messy defeat. Crowley is given a sponge and a bucket; Aziraphale says he's not wasting a miracle an letting Crowley get away from his mischief that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Aziraphale is so stubborn. I just want to shake him until he wakes up and realizes. 🙄 As always, I love to hear your thoughts!


	16. Sex Ed pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt's back and Aziraphale's a bit jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's these dramatic 6,000 year old beings that don't know how to have a proper conversation about their feelings because they don't want to scare the other person away. _sigh_

By the time Crowley gets everything cleaned up, it's time to eat supper, and then he's too tired to deal with it. In the morning he's lazy, and they end up working together down in the bookshop.

The door opens, both heads jerk up at the tingling of the bell.

“Er, Hullo.” Newt says awkwardly. He has his hands over his eyes. “Is it safe to come in?”

“Mr. Pulsifer?”

“Newt!” Crowley breaks into a grin. “Yah, just two blokes – pardon, a bloke and an angel working in a bookshop. Your virtue is intact.”

“Oh good.” Newt drops his hand.

“What do we owe the pleasure to this morning?” Aziraphale says. “I notice Ms. Device is not with you.”

“Anathema had to work today, so I'm here on my own. The parking in London really is a _nightmare!_ I had to park almost two blocks away! How do you even deal with it?”

“Eh, things like that have never bothered me.” Crowley shrugs. “I just do what I want and things listen.”

“I tend to leave Dick Turpin wherever it breaks down and hope the traffic warden takes pity on me and doesn't boot it up.” Newt says wistfully

“Shall I make us tea then?” Aziraphale asks.

“Actually, I'm not just visiting. Anathema wanted me to come. She thought Crowley might need some help.” Newt paused. “I'm pretty much the worst person to be teaching others. But there's no electronics for me to mess up!” He shuffles. “Just doing normal person things in the loo.”

“The loo?” Aziraphale puzzled.

Newt dug in his bag. “I brought stuff.” He pulls out a razor.

“Oh! Book girl saves the day again!” Crowley exclaims

Aziraphale frowns. “I thought my idea made plenty of sense.”

“We never got down to the actual shaving though, and now he's one of the humans. Who better to get advice from?” Crowley put down the books he was shelving. “Newt pretty much did a smashing job of stopping the apocalypse.” He reminds the angel.

“Right.” Aziraphale said primly, looking like he sucked on a lemon.

Crowley throws one of his arms over Newt's shoulder, waving his hand at the razor. “You won't need that, we got plenty of stuff yesterday.”

“I got things.” Aziraphale said. “You got shaving gel all over the flat and tried to light a fire with my toaster.”

“Pish-Posh.” Crowley waves off the angel. “Now then, Newt come on up, we can sort this out while Aziraphale runs the shop.”

Newt looks back at Aziraphale as Crowley drags him up the stairs. “Are you sure?” He says tensely. “He doesn't look particularly thrilled.”

“It's fine. He's just huffy cause he's missing out on the fun.” Crowley assures him.

<~>

Newt spends a good hour with him, trying to teach him. Crowley texts Anathema a picture of of himself and Newt slathered in shaving cream holding razors with the caption _« prepping for surgery. » _

_He_ only nicks himself a couple times, though it's strange to see the bright red blood flowing out of him. He had a body issued to him in the past, a relatively human one. But little dings had never done much too him and have always healed quickly. This is a novel experience in so many ways.

Crowley learns, though he finds it to be quite the hassle. Humans really do this _every_ day? How do they even have time for it? Their lives are so short, and they spend so much of it sleeping, eating, and now this? How is a body supposed to get anything done?

By the end, Crowley is clean shaven and feels slightly like he has a grasp of how to deal with it from now on. He sends Anathema a selfie of his bare face. _« the operation was successful » _

Crowley insists on Newt staying for dinner to pay him back for driving all the way to the bookshop. The kid looks thrilled, though he does sidle over to Crowley quietly ask if he's sure because Aziraphale still seems upset. The angel is short with him while they eat, and he leaves soon after they finish dinner.

Crowley gathers up the takeout boxes, depositing them in the trash. “Why are you so _grumpy_ today?”

“I'm not grumpy!”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Is it cause I have a friend now?”

“Why would I be upset with you for making a friend?”

“I dunno, angel, _why_ would you? You were glaring at Newt so hard I thought he was going to catch on fire.”

“I just thought, we , were going to do this _together.”_ He says, miffed

“Newt showed me how to shave.” Crowley puts his hand on his hips. “'s not something important. You show me other stuff, It's not like I'm going to ask Newt to pull my pants down and have at it. Sides, I've been bothering you enough. I thought you'd be happy to have a break.”

Aziraphale stops collecting the dinner plates from the table. “Crowley, is that what you think, that you're a bother?”

“Zira, I've pretty much taken over your life as of late. 6,000 years we've been on Earth, and I've never been in your pocket till now. Of _course_ I'm a bother.''

“You're not. I'm happy to help you.” Aziraphale puts the dishes in the sink and turns back to Crowley. “You're my friend.”

_“Friend?”_ Crowley says this. “Right. So. I'm glad we cleared that up.” He clears his throat. “You know, I'm awful worn out from today. I think I'm going to call it a night. He quickly makes his way to the bedroom and once the door is closed, he leans against it. 'friend.' Crowley doesn't want to be friends, he wants more.

Aziraphale is left in the kitchen wondering what just happened.

_ <~> _

Crowley knows there's more there has to be something more to it. He's finally getting to the point where he can string together sentences for a decent amount of time before he loses the plot when he's touching himself. And he does masturbate alone a _lot_ lately.

He thinks he's ready for whatever it is that comes next. If Aziraphale will ever touch him again. He hasn't done anything recently. Crowley feels like he's going to explode. Wanking is only getting him so far. Aziraphale's mouth is worlds better. Clearly Crowley has to take matters into his own hands if he wants to get on with it.

<~>

They're watching telly. Well, Crowley is watching telly, Aziraphale is in his chair reading. Even Sophia is mocking him. “_Forgive me, Rose, but I haven’t had sex in 15 years and it’s starting to get on my nerves.”_

He clears his throat. “So then, what's next?”

“Pardon me, dear?”

“There's other stuff. With sex.” He clarifies. “Isn't there?”

“There is. There's a _lot_ more.” Aziraphale waves his hand to mute the telly. “Are you sure you're ready to learn more?”

“Am _I _sure? Angel, I was ready ages ago,” Crowley exclaims. “You're the one holding out on me.”

“I'm not holding out on you.” Aziraphale says defensively. “If you want to learn more, I'll show you.”

Crowley falls back on the sofa. “It sure feels like you're holding out. You've been rather distant since that day Newt came over.”

“It wasn't intentional.”

“You've got something against the boy?”

“Not at all.”

“Right. We're all friends.” Crowley crosses his arms. “So then why have you been all silent and weird? Are you still mad at me for letting Newt teach me instead of figuring it out ourselves?”

“No, it's nothing for you to worry about. I'm not mad at you.” Aziraphale says firmly. “Would you like to start now?”

“Now?” Crowley sits up again, a little surprised.

“Well you did seem rather interested.” Aziraphale sets his book aside.

“Okay, yeah. Fine. Hit me with whatever you've got. Are you going to print more pictures and lists?” Crowley rolls his eyes.

“That is my preferred method of doing things.”

“My preferred method involves more _doing._” Crowley scoots back on the sofa and looks at Aziraphale.

“I'm well aware dear. But this is something you should dip your toes into rather than dive.

Crowley wiggles into the couch. “Fine then. Go print stuff out. You know where to find me.”

Aziraphale does leave, after giving him a long look. Crowley doesn't know what he's supposed to make of that. But Aziraphale if going to touch him again. They're going to do things!

<~>

Aziraphale comes back a few hours later. And he does have papers.

Crowley makes his way over and looks through the pages as Aziraphale spreads them out on the kitchen table.

“OOO there are _diagrams!_” Crowley claps a little and sits down. He likes diagrams. They're easy to follow. Although, this feels like looking at a middle school sex education course. He didn't have a hand in creating that. That was all on the humans especially the abstinence only mess. Besides, looking at the paper with a side view of a split apart penis that Aziraphale is holding is strangely uncomfortable. He looks away from that.

“There are other pages I printed out, if you prefer to have a vagina.”

“Nah.” Crowley hums dismissively. “I like the parts I'm working with right now. Maybe later.”

“I just wanted to offer it to you. Now with the male body, the next step forward would be anal stimulation.” Aziraphale says.

“Stimulation?”

Aziraphale points to the penis diagram. “This right here, this is called the prostate.”

Crowley glances at it then looks at another page. “What about this page? this looks interesting. Next time you should start with this.”

“Intercourse is something that has to be worked up to. Pay attention.” Aziraphale taps the first page.

“Alright, Anal stimulation.” The words sound familiar, but he's not quite sure of the details.

“Right. And to do it, human bodies require a bit of prep work. You could miracle it, but my miracles are limited, so we'll do this the old fashioned way. It's a very _important_ step before getting intimate. If you don't do it, something could tear or be quite painful. They use lube or oils to stretch things out.”

“Seems like a lot of work for a bit of buggering.”

“Well there is the vagina. penetration it is easier than the anus, but the clitoris does require quite a bit of stimulation. It's easier to err, pleasure the male organs.”

Crowley bites his lip. Aziraphale pleasuring him. He clears his throat. “So um.”

“Nothing happening today. I'll let you read through these printouts, and these,” he taps the stack in his hand, “are for the female parts, if you change your mind.”

Crowley swallows his disappointment. _Soon._

“Right. Yeah. I'll look through these.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guys, how are we handling quarantine and self isolation? I'm sitting at home writing smut. hope to update all my wips this week. The next chapter of this should be fun. Stay safe, wash your hands properly, don't shake hands, don't touch your face (do you have any idea how hard it is not to touch your face when you are deaf and use sign language? LIKE every sign involves touching the face!)


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